Halcyon

Chapter Four

Ronon kept low, dodging between what little cover he could find on the battlefield, doing his best to avoid the combatants and taking them out from range when they left him with no choice. He halted in the shade of an overturned steam truck to catch his breath, checking the charge on his pistol.

Dex's anger enveloped him with a steady, drumming fury. His dislike of these self-styled `nobles' had gradually ramped up from the moment they had crossed paths with them on M3Y465, little by little their contemptuous and faintly mocking manners grating more and more on his patience. He might have been able to tolerate their foppish conduct and the way they played at being soldiers, if they hadn't brought them to see this pathetic game that masqueraded as a real war.

Honor and duty, those were ideals that Ronon understood. Once upon a time, he might have even been willing to die for them; but things were not the same now. Years of fleeing from arrogant hunters had taught him differently. The Satedan had learned the hard way that true battle brought no glory, no favor. It was nothing but blood cost after blood cost, and no amount of accolades or pieces of shiny metal pinned to a man's chest could balance the butcher's bill. That lesson had been a harsh one, harsh enough to end all life on his homeworld.

He cast a cold-eyed glance up at the airship overhead. These aristocrats, floating over the carnage in all their finery, heavy with hollow decorations and toy weapons, they understood nothing. He imagined them stripped of their privileges, without bodyguards to defend them, facing a true enemy, facing Wraith. Dex doubted if more than a handful of them would have the spirit to fight for their lives. They were nothing but spoilt, arrogant children, and he was sick of their little games.

The Runner burst from cover as a trio of tancoats marched past him. With a blow from the curved pommel of his short sword, Ronon felled the first man and shot another at pointblank range with his pistol, the red flash of the stun bolt knocking his target down. The third tancoat was on his guard, and fired his lance-rifle. Dex twitched away as a volley of needleshot cut through the air where he had been standing, and he threw himself at the soldier. The last man cried out as Ronon bunched a fistful of his uniform and pulled him off-balance. He took a head-butt across the nose and his eyes rolled back, insensate. By the time he hit the mud, Dex was already sprinting through the thin haze of smoke, zigzagging around tumbleweed clumps of razor wire and rusted tank traps.

Ronon hopped over trenches, ignoring shouts of alarm and sporadic flashes of gunfire. The soldiers saw him and their first reaction was uncertainty; he could read the question on their mud-stained, smoke-dirty faces. Who is that man? Whose side is he on? With no sigils or sashes, no uniform as they understood it, the troopers didn't know what to make of him. Their enemy today wore powder blue, and Dex's clothes of tawny leather matched no uniform they had ever seen.

His greatcoat flapped open like the wings of a raptor bird as he threw himself over a revetment and on to the foot of the hill where the tan banner was based. Ronon saw the thin gun slits of a low bunker, and emerging from a vent in the roof, a whitepainted flagpole from which the Baron Noryn's battle standard hung.

"Hoi!" shouted a voice. A concealed trapdoor in the hillside flapped open, revealing a tancoat wearing a forage cap laden with officer braid. "Blade's sake, who are you? Name and unit, man, or I'll take you apart!" He had a bell-mouthed blunderbuss in his grip.

"Specialist Ronon Dex, Satedan Regulars." He gave a grim salute with his particle magnum.

The tancoat officer blinked in confusion. "Eh? I've never heard of that division. What's your Dynast, whose side are you on-

From nowhere, a mortar shell exploded nearby and the con cussion made the soldier flinch. Dex took the opportunity and struck the man with a snap shot, grabbing him and dragging his body out of the foxhole. "Mine," he told the unconscious officer. "I'm on my side."

Ronon dropped through the open hatch; as he guessed, the inside of the hilltop was lined with tunnels leading up to the bunker at the crown. Holstering the pistol, he fished in the deep pockets of his coat and retrieved a trio of stubby black cylinders. What was it that Sheppard 's people called them? Flash-bangs. He smiled coldly. The directness of the name appealed to him. Dex pulled the pins on the stun grenades and threw the cylinders hard down the tunnel, into the heart of the bunker, then ducked down and pulled his coat flap over his face.

There was a crashing screech of detonation and a blast of white light. Ronon shook off the whining from his ears and moved forward quickly, through tancoats lying on the floor, rocking and clawing at their eyes.

He emerged in the pillbox where the flagpole stood and punched out the single rifleman there who tried to oppose him. Ronon's blood was up, and on some level he realized he was enjoying this. It wasn't often he had to fight without killing his foes outright, and the challenge of beating these men using nonlethal methods was novel to him. He liked the way it was testing his skills in new and interesting ways.

Dex swung his short sword in a shallow arc and severed the cords holding the tan pennant to the mast. The banner fell to earth, dropping through the hole in the bunker roof and into his open palm. He tied the cloth around his shoulder and knotted it, then scrambled out of the bunker and on to the hill. "One down," Ronon announced to the air, saluting the airship with his sword, "one to go."

Rodney looked away from the gallery's gimbal-mounted telescope and grinned incredulously. "He's taken one of the flags. On his own."

Sheppard caught a glimpse of the running figure through the haze and then he was gone again, sprinting out of sight toward the opposite end of the battle zone. He fought to keep a smile off his face. Yeah, sure he was pissed at Ronon right now for getting in the middle of this, but there was a part of him that wanted to cheer him on as well.

"This is an outrage!" thundered Baron Noryn. "A clear and undeniable violation of the codes of engagement! I demand a cessation in hostilities immediately! This cannot stand!"

Across the observation gallery, Palfrun and his men were animated and bellicose. "You know the rules, Noryn!" said the other nobleman. "An engagement can only be closed when victory conditions are met, or by appeal to the Lord Magnate's veto… And I feel no such need to ask for it."

Noryn stalked toward the other man. "Rule breaker!" He stabbed a finger at Palfrun, and the gasps the declaration brought with it made it clear that on Halcyon, the insult carried an awful lot of weight. "Did you conspire with the outworlders in this? What did you grant them in order to employ that primitive thug?"

"Hey, now, watch it with the name-calling-" began Sheppard, but his voice was lost in a chorus of recriminations.

"I have no influence over this Runner. Perhaps you ought to address his master? Or better yet, why not improve the training of your riflemen so that one single attacker cannot so easily cut thought their lines?"

"I want this match stopped!" Noryn stamped his foot in impotent rage, his cheeks turning crimson. "I demand it! I insist that the Lord Magnate halt this cheating immediately!"

"You insist?" Daus's words were mild, but his voice silenced everyone. "You insist that I obey your demands, Baron?"

Noryn's bluster disintegrated. "I… My Lord, I spoke out of turn…"

Palfrun grinned at his opponent. "Play the game with good humor, old warrior. Try to lose like a gentleman."

Up on the dais, Kelfer and Muruw chuckled at the insult, amused by the sport.

Erony's father glanced at the other baron. "Ah, Palfrun. Always so quick to declare victory, yes? Should you not wait until the outcome of the day is clear?"

Hesitation showed on the bluecoat noble's face. "But… I had assumed… The Runner, I assumed he clearly intended to ally himself to me."

"Think so?" said Sheppard. "You can't be that good a judge of character, then."

"But what else would he hope to achieve? What…" Palfrun's words dried up as understanding crossed his pinched face. He went pale and faced Daus. "My lord! Perhaps I was, ah, hasty in my words to Baron Noryn. I feel now that, with your permission, a cessation of battle would serve us best."

"Indeed?" said the Magnate. "I do not grant it." Daus ignored the scattering of surprise. "Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard's man has violated the field of conflict and therefore, I deem that it falls to him to deal with this. Immediately." Daus laid a heavy, threatening gaze on Sheppard, masking nothing.

"He's kinda free-willed," said John. "I don't think I'd be able to talk him around."

"I do not expect you to," replied the Magnate. "I expect you to stop him by whatever means you wish to employ. Of course, if you decline, I will be forced to order my gunners to deploy sheetfire against the ground. It is an indiscriminate weapon, but quite effective on living targets."

"Father-" began Erony, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand.

"Fine," said Sheppard, "but I'm not guaranteeing anything."

Daus nodded. "Vekken, accompany the Lieutenant Colonel and ensure his safety as best you can. Sadly, the battle will continue around you, so do be careful."

Teyla stepped forward. "I will come with you."

"No," said the Magnate. "Three intruders on the field are quite enough."

Hill took his L85 off his shoulder, handing the assault rifle and an ammunition pack to Sheppard. "You might need this, boss."

"Thanks."

"You're not really going down there?" McKay's eyes wid ened. "I'm sure you haven't missed the whole bullets-explosions-warfare thing."

Sheppard took the rifle and shook his head. "I'm going. And this time, when I say I want the rest of you to keep out of trouble, I really, really mean it."

The cable rig dropped them at the edge of a shell crater, and the colonel shook off the rush of the descent. "Whoa. Like bungee jumping, but without the kick."

Vekken landed like a cat and gestured sharply at him. In his other hand, Daus's adjutant carried a compact version of the lance-rifles used by the rank-and-file soldiers, twin-barreled with a sickle-shaped magazine protruding from the top. Sheppard fingered the safety catch on the British-made rifle. He didn't want to shoot anyone if he could help it, but a hollow feeling in his stomach was telling him that he probably wouldn't have the choice. "Aim to wound, then." he said aloud.

"This way." Vekken broke into a run and John had to scramble to keep up. Smoke bombs were popping overhead, white fronds of mist settling over the ruddy-colored mud in lines, obscuring everything more than twenty feet away. Vekken's black coat bobbed out there, moving and weaving. Sheppard's pace was more cautious. This place looked like something from the Battle of the Somme, and the last thing the colonel wanted was to run straight into a minefield or a flooded crater. And who knew what other kind of weird weapons these people might have lying around?

"Damn it, Ronon. What the hell were you thinking?" But the question was irrelevant. Sheppard knew precisely what Ronon had been thinking. He'd known Dex long enough now to have the measure of the man; and it irked him to admit that under other circumstances, he too might have tried something just as reckless to short-circuit this cruel blood sport.

The clattering rattle of lance-fire reached his ears and he turned. Two tancoat troopers rushed forward, firing as they moved. Both men saw Sheppard in a crouch and turned their guns on him, bracketing him with shot.

"I'm not your enemy!" he shouted, but they ignored him. The Atlantis uniform jacket John wore wasn't the same shade of blue as the uniforms of Palfrun's men, but these two clearly thought it was near enough as made no odds. Needle rounds hissed past his head and Sheppard raised the L85. "Ah, damn it." Selecting single round fire, the colonel put one bullet apiece into the legs of both tancoats, sending them down in wailing heaps. He'd barely dealt with that when the high-pitched keening of a mortar round sounded. Sheppard glimpsed a foxhole from the corner of his eye and threw himself into it, yelling as he went. "Incoming!"

He landed hard and winced as a rain of muddy gobbets followed him into the dugout. Blinking away the shock, he glanced up-and into the barrel of another lance-rifle, hovering an inch from the tip of his nose.

At the other end of the gun was a kid in a powder blue long coat, his high hat at a cocked angle and lines of blood issuing from a cut on his cheek. His eyes were hollow and full of terror. Behind him were four more of Palfrun's troopers, clustered around the body of another of their number. The corpse didn't appear to have a head.

"Easy, son," Sheppard said, gently pushing the barrel away from his face. "I'm not your enemy." This time around, the words seemed to work and the young bluecoat let his rifle drop. "Where's your commanding officer?"

One of the other soldiers, a girl with ragged red hair, threw him a confused look. "Aren't you?"

"Our brigade marshal is gone," said the boy with the rifle. "Haven't seen him since the order came down to advance." He gestured up at the airship.

"Advance to what?" demanded Sheppard. "What's your objective?"

The boy blinked. "Kill the enemy?"

John shook his head, disgusted. "What's your name, son?"

"Bryor."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen cycles, sir. Indentured straight from the orphanage."

"Bryor, you're brigade marshal now, understand me? I'm fieldpromoting you."

The girl gaped. "That's against the rules-"

"New revisions, just in," Sheppard said over her. "I'm letting everyone know." He had an edge here, however tenuous, over these conscripts; all that officer training school stuff was paying off as these kids paid attention to him, sold on the idea he was of senior rank to them. "Bryor's in command here. He's going to keep you all safe until the battle's over." John blew out a breath. "Which shouldn't be much longer, I hope."

Sheppard peered up over the lip of the dugout. The fighting had moved on for the moment. He made ready to vault up and over.

"Sir!" said Bryor, his voice cracking. "I… Don't know what to do! I need orders!"

"No, you don't." Sheppard said flatly. "You're the leader now. Your only mission from now on is to keep your unit alive, get it? You want orders? Stay down, don't attract fire. Survive."

John heard a voice shouting his name and the sound of hoof beats getting closer. "But we're supposed to fight for the banner," said the boy.

The colonel ran his gaze over the cluster of soldiers and saw nothing but a group of frightened children. "Not today"

"Sheppard!" It was Vekken, and he emerged from the smoke on the back of a riding animal. He spotted John and beckoned with his weapon. "I secured transport! Quickly! Climb up!"

He ran over. The animal looked something like a shaggy-coated horse, but with a head that was more lupine than equine. It hissed through a bridle at him. Sheppard noticed that the mount had blue detail on its saddle. "Where'd you rustle up this thing from?"

Vekken jerked his head. "The previous owner had a fall."

"I'll bet he did." John hauled himself up on the back of the beast. The animal was longer than a horse, and there was more than enough room for both men to ride easily. Vekken swatted the neck of the animal with a stubby riding crop and it launched away into a gallop.

Daus's man rode hard and fast; it was clear that he was an expert horseman. Sheppard hung on for dear life, clutching the rifle to him as they threaded through the battlefield. They re-entered the zone of densest fighting and the wolf-horse snarled at the gunfire, spitting out foam from its lips.

"What does your Runner hope to achieve, Sheppard?"

John noticed that now it was just the two of them, Vekken didn't feel the need to address him by his rank. "My guess is he's angling for a draw."

"And what then? Will he invade every other honor engagement and contest? Battles bigger than this one are waged in skirmish enclosures every week on Halcyon. Our people welcome them. They give our society structure and an example to follow. Your Runner's interference will alter nothing."

"Haven't you ever heard of the phrase `Give peace a chance'? You might wanna try it sometime."

Vekken laughed. "You dress like a soldier, you carry yourself like one, but I see now that it ends there. Are all you Earthkin so shy of bloodshed?"

"Sadly, not nearly enough," replied Sheppard.

Ahead, the blue bunker was becoming visible, the soldiers defending it mired in a sea of advancing tancoats. More shells shrieked down from the air and a chain of yellow fireballs erupted around them. The animal balked and reared back, throwing the two men off and into the mud. Sheppard got to his feet and hauled Vekken up.

The adjutant glanced at the wolf-horse. A shrapnel wound on its thigh was pink with new blood, and it gave off a pitiful mew. Without hesitation, without even a flicker of concern, Vekken shot the animal dead.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Sheppard exploded.

"It was useless to anyone in that state. Better to finish it quickly." He moved away, toward the sound of gunfire. "This way."

Sheppard's face hardened. On the wind, he heard the familiar crackling snap of Ronon's pistol.

Dex's path wasn't hard to find. Injured bluecoats and tancoats alike were scattered about like fallen trees. Vekken grinned. "It seems your scientist McKay was correct about the Runner. He has indeed left a trail of destruction for us to follow." Shells and guns crashed across the landscape in a constant rumbling chorus. The adjutant bent, pausing for a moment to study the face of a comatose bluecoat rifleman. "Good economy of use in his blows. He fights well for a man who dresses like a low-born."

Sheppard snorted. "Could you be any more arrogant? I mean, really, I'd like to know. Every time I think you can't be more snobbish and patronizing, I'm proven wrong. I'm just wondering if there's some kind of upper limit."

"There is no shame in acknowledging one's own superiority, Lieutenant Colonel. A man who knows his place in the world is content."

John's lip curled. "I bet you have a whole book of those little homilies, don't you?"

They entered the tunnel network at the foot of the hill; shots came from up above them, and Sheppard heard Ronon's voice in a wordless snarl of pain and anger.

Vekken continued, unconcerned. "If you find Halcyon unpalatable, then I am sure you could take your leave to the Great Circlet and go…" He smiled to himself. "Oh, but that's right, I am remiss. You have no home to go to, do you? After you surrendered the City of the Precursors to the Wraith."

"We didn't surrender it," Sheppard retorted it. "We…" He swallowed, catching himself. "They saw it destroyed and then they left."

The adjutant gave him a quick look. "The Wraith can be easily fooled, if one knows how to do it." He looked away. "But I suspect you stay here for another reason. The Magnate spoke to me of Dr. McKay's interest in the dolmen. I wonder, you think us so objectionable, and yet you would tolerate us just to take a look at an old, crumbling stone obelisk? The Lady Erony has always suggested that our scientists should give it closer scrutiny. Perhaps she is correct."

John realized he was on unsteady ground here, and he trusted this man about as far as he could throw him. "McKay is interested in the Ancients." It was the truth, in a manner of speaking-just not the whole truth. "It's scientific curiosity, which I guess might be hard for you to get a handle on, seeing as you people seem to think you know everything already."

Vekken laughed again. "You amuse me, Lieutenant Colonel. For that alone, I think you should not yet leave Halcyon."

Sheppard bit his lip and refused the urge to retort to the man's comments; instead, he shifted carefully into the flag bunker, his nose wrinkling at the smell of burnt metal and ozone.

Ronon Dex was sitting atop an ammunition crate with his pistol laid across his lap. The snub barrel of the gun was cherry-red with heat from its discharges. The Satedan had the powder blue pennant of Baron Palfrun's Dynast in his hand and he was tearing a strip from it. He gave Sheppard a weary nod, and returned to shredding the flag into a makeshift bandage. Dex had a line of puncture wounds on his upper left arm where needle rounds had struck him. His coat was dotted with dark smears of blood and mud.

He lifted his other arm to show the tan pennant hanging there. "Game over. Tell the Magnate, I have both flags. I claim victory."

"Most impressive," Vekken allowed, "even though Palfrun and Noryn's conscripts lack the skills of the higher Dynasts, for one man to take them all on… You have exemplary skills." Then he sighed. "However, as I tried to explain to the Lieutenant Colonel, your ignorance of our rules has led you to a sadly mistaken conclusion. Yes, the codes of engagement do state that he who holds both pennants is the victor, but the letter of the law requires that person to be a duly sanctioned soldier in the service to a noble Dynast, or an operative of the Magnate's will. And you, Ronon Dex, are neither of those. The battle continues."

Ronon came to his feet, snarling, the gun in his grip. "I won!" he spat. "Call it off!"

"I do not have that authority," Vekken said coolly. "All you have done, Runner, is ensure that there will be more bloodshed, not less."

The mood of belligerent amusement that had filled the obser vation gallery was gone now, replaced by cold fury and righteous consternation from the two opposing cliques of noblemen. Minister Muruw and the scientist Kelfer were watching and talking quietly; it seemed like they were setting up a private wager on the outcome of the day's events. Rodney saw the tension in the stances of Private Hill and Teyla, the two of them drawing closer around him, ready to fight if things turned the wrong way. McKay's fingers twitched nervously, and he gripped a mounted telescope to give them something to do; something other than stray to the holstered pistol on his belt.

Violence was ready to ignite here at the drop of an ornate hat. "One wrong word and these guys will be at each other's throats," he whispered. "It's like being in the stands at a hockey game."

"More like Rangers versus Celtic," said Hill. "Stick close if it kicks off."

Linnian accepted a teleprint from one of the servants and studied it gravely. "Observers in the north quadrant report that the Runner appears to have secured the second pennant." He blinked, as if he wasn't sure of what he'd just said aloud.

The Magnate gave a small smile but said nothing. The turn of events appeared to be entertaining him.

A chorus of denials and angry retorts came from Noryn's group, although the baron himself said nothing, kneading the grip of his sword.

Palfrun stepped forward, and drew a cluster of metal rods from inside his coat. "My Lord Magnate, I petition you."

"No!" cried Noryn, eyes wide with shock, "Do not say it!"

Palfrun ignored his adversary. "This tender represents a group of my holdings. I bid them in request to engage your favor."

Linnian took the rods and counted through them; Rodney suddenly understood that these were the Halcyon equivalent of coins or paper money, perhaps even deeds or tokens of ownership. Erony's adjutant nodded at the Magnate and the rods vanished into his tunic.

Noryn was shaking his head. "This… This is not fair!"

"You may make a counter-offer, if you wish," said Linnian. "Speak now, Baron, if that is your intention."

"You know I cannot!" Noryn thundered. "The poor harvest after the storms in Gethil Province, the loss of my hunt splinters in the last sojourn… I have no resources to spare!"

"Then you should not have sought to engage me!" replied Palfrun. "I am willing to take this to the certain conclusion… Unless you will concede?"

"To you? Never!" Noryn went for his sword, but a nod from Linnian made sure that the Baron's own cohorts stayed his hand. The man's face fell. "Please, I beg of you…"

"Do not be so weak," Palfrun was disgusted. "Accept the inevitable."

"What are they on about?" said Hill quietly. "I can't follow this posh twaddle."

"I believe he is paying Daus to intervene in the battle." Teyla replied.

"Bribing the referee? That's a bit rough," said the soldier.

Baron Palfrun bowed to Daus. "I humbly ask that I might call upon my Hounds to deliver the final blow in this honor engagement."

The Magnate considered the request. "The codes do not allow Hounds in a skirmish of this size, Palfrun; but then, the play of today's events has made this anything but a common battle. I will endorse this petition. You may deploy your Hounds."

Palfrun bowed again and gestured to one of his men, who ran off to give the order. Rodney saw that Baron Noryn had gone pale, shrinking against the glass windows. The handful of other nobles who didn't wear the same colors as his men detached themselves from his group and drifted away. Even though McKay didn't understand the full dynamics of the situation, the meaning was clear; Noryn was finished.

Moments after Palfrun's adjutant had relayed his master's command, Rodney saw the shape of a large gyro-flyer rattle over the tree line and drop into the combat zone. He scrutinized it through the telescope. Powder blue insignia lined the sides of the aircraft. The flyer dropped into the middle of the fighting and ramps fell open from it. Figures emerged; they wore glitter ing armor plates of silver metal, with full helmets designed after the shape of a wolf's head. Light blue scarves hung from their necks. Most of them were unarmed, but those that were only carried melee weapons; curved, cutlass-style swords or battle axes with diamond-shaped heads. They waded into the fight like berserkers, attacking anything that moved with feral intensity. McKay looked away, sickened.

Hill kept watching. "That must be their heavy mob."

"We have to get Sheppard and Ronon out of there," began Rodney, turning to Teyla. "We-" McKay's words died in his throat as he saw the look on the Athosian woman's face. Her eyes were distant, locked on some horror that only she could see. "Teyla?"

"Oh no," she whispered.

Dex's attack on the second bunker had caused a momentary lull in the battle, as troopers on both sides hesitated while news of the Runner's interference spread across the lines. Sheppard and the others emerged from a trapdoor on the hillside to an odd quiet broken only by the sporadic crack of shot and the lazy murmur of the engines on Daus's airship. Ronon was the first to see the gyro-flyer deploying the new arrivals.

"What's this?" he demanded, still holding both pennants in his fist.

Vekken's entire posture shifted the moment he saw what Dex was pointing at. "It would seem that the Magnate wishes to bring this engagement to a swift conclusion. He's given Palfrun leave to release the Hounds."

"Dogs?" said Sheppard. "What, are we supposed to make like foxes now?"

Sunlight glinted off metal plate armor. "I saw them when we arrived at the palace," said Ronon, "a squad of armored warriors."

Vekken shook his head. "No, those were Hounds from the Lord Magnate's personal kennel. The Fourth Dynast wields the largest pack on Halcyon. Those who join us now are from Palfrun's paltry stock. I imagine that may be all he has."

Sheppard squinted through his field binoculars. "They're wearing Palfrun's colors, and-" The colonel gasped as he saw one of the Hounds kill two tancoats in as many seconds with brutal attacks. The others were fighting with wild abandon, shredding flesh with iron claws fixed to their chain mail. "They're slaughtering those kids out there!" He turned on Ronon. "Give him the flags. Vekken, take them! You win, just tell Daus to call them off!"

The adjutant gave Sheppard a pitying look. "It does not matter, Lieutenant Colonel. The Hounds are wild animals. They are simply set loose with one order in mind, and they kill and kill until it is achieved, or until they are beaten back."

"You're down here, too," snapped Ronon. "Doesn't your lord and master care if they kill you?"

Vekken smiled. "Lord Daus clearly has great faith in my will to survive."

Dex turned to Sheppard. "Looks like that leaves us with only one option, then." He drew his gun and his sword.

"Ah hell," grated John, checking the ammo on Hill's rifle. "This mission is getting worse by the second."

"Think of it this way," said Vekken, hoisting his twin-barreled weapon, "if nothing else, today you have gained a rare insight into the Halcyon personality."

Sheppard's radio crackled. "Colonel!" cried McKay. "They're sending in reinforcements!"

"Thanks for the update, Rodney," John replied dryly, "but we're a little busy right now. We'll talk later, if we don't die horribly first."

The Hounds were coming toward the hill in a silver wave, laying down everyone who stood against them. Sheppard started firing, moving forward with the L85 at his shoulder, advancing down to meet the attackers.

Ronon took a second to draw a bead on one of the armored warriors as it loped up the shallow hill toward him. Truth be told, there was a part of the Satedan soldier that had wondered about the figures in silver plate when he'd first laid eyes on them, a part that measured himself against them and wondered what they might be like in a fight. So far, he hadn't been very impressed with the quality of Halcyon's fighters; the bluecoats and tancoats were a poor match for a seasoned veteran like him, badly trained recruits who seemed to fight more with numbers and scattershot fire than they did with anything like skill. But these ones, these Hounds, they were something different. Just from the way they moved, he could see they were dangerous. The name was a good one, because these warriors sprinted across the ground like attack dogs let off a leash; and they didn't kill with the cold detachment of a career soldier. The Hounds were savage, and they liked shedding blood.

The lead Hound bobbed and he fired at it. The energy bolt clipped the warrior and he stumbled, but kept coming. Dex grimaced, for a second wondering if he had neglected to switch the particle magnum's beam setting from low-level stun intensity to the higher killing force. The second shot hit home and a red glow flashed over the metal chest plate as the Hound went down, a final snarl echoing from inside its helmet.

Sheppard was having similar difficulty, the ballistic projectile weapon in his hands barking as he fired bullet after bullet into the advancing enemy. "Next time, I'll bring armor-piercing," he quipped.

Vekken worked the muzzle of his weapon and twisted the choke on the gun to narrow the cone of fire. Steam clouds spat as the rifle ejected a swarm of steel needles and Ronon saw one of the Hounds blown back off its feet to tumble back down the hill.

The three of them kept up the firelight, but the Hounds were too fast. They came into hand-to-hand range and threw themselves at the three men, clawed hands out. Ronon had his sword at arms and beat back a warrior who went for his throat with a vicious downward slash. Armor plate distorted and the blade tore a rent in the chain mail beneath. Dex had a momentary impression of dark, oily blood, but then he was moving on to his next challenger, dispatching it with a point-blank pistol blast. On they came, storms of claws and spitting fury, mad with bloodlust. He could taste a harsh metallic scent in the air from the aggressors, and it flashed a warning in his memory; but he was too deep into the fight to dwell on it, mov ing from second to second, trading sword blows for kicks, punches for claw strikes. It was all instinct now, all down to one simple equation. Fight or Die.

He heard Sheppard snarl as a Hound came at him; a ripping discharge of bullets from the colonel's rifle slammed into the torso of the warrior and it spun away, trailing blood. For his part, Vekken had reversed his grip on his gun and was fighting off a pair of growling Hounds with the spiked butt of the stubby weapon.

Claws raked his back and Ronon roared in pain, turning away from the blow and swinging the short sword. The Hound that struck him dodged backward, unwittingly falling into Sheppard's field of fire. The colonel saw Dex's situation and took the sliver-armored attacker down with a burst of shots.

Ronon returned the favor as another Hound reared up behind Sheppard, ready to tear his head from his neck. Dex threw his sword and the blade buried itself in the warrior's stomach. The Hound stumbled to the ground and lay still.

"Runner!" shouted Vekken. "Clear my way!" He barely had time to duck as the adjutant fired both barrels at once, blasting solid slug rounds as thick as a hammer's head into the enemy.

The ex-soldier knew that only minutes had passed, but in the fury of the fight it had seem far, far longer. The Hounds lay ruined across the hillside around them, their pristine armor and powder blue scarves dirty with thick, black blood. A couple were still alive, but not for much longer.

Vekken, bleeding, crossed to one of the still-twitching corpses and shot it in the head. He spat out a stream of pink spittle and wiped his mouth. For a brief moment, the arch, aristocratic mask he wore slipped and Ronon saw him for what he really was; a coldeyed killer.

Sheppard was breathing hard. His jacket had claw marks across the arm and he bore a shallow cut on his forehead. "That all you got?" he shouted defiantly to the air. "I'm barely breaking a sweat here!" He met Ronon's gaze and Dex knew that the opposite was true. The brief, vicious confrontation had staggered all three of them in its intensity, and it wasn't something the Satedan wanted to go through again any time soon.

Ronon stepped to the corpse of the Hound he had dispatched with his short sword and recovered his weapon with a sickly sucking pop. The blood on the blade glittered darkly, and he smelt the rough metallic scent again. Despite the heat he felt from the exertion of fighting, Dex went cold. "Sheppard," he said in a quiet voice. "You had better take a look at this."

The colonel was beside him, rifle stowed, bending at the knees. Sheppard leaned over the body of the dead Hound and ran his hands over the enclosed steel helmet. There were latches at the neck ring, and they came open easily even though the metal was wet with fluids. The halves of the wolf-head helm fell away on to the mud underfoot, and Ronon felt his gut twist in a reflexive churn of hatred and disgust.

The head beneath the helmet was all too recognizable. Where he would have expected to see thin tresses of white hair there was a forehead shorn down to bare gray fuzz, but everything else was familiar. Ashen, pallid skin lay slack and waxy in death, a tracery of blue-green capillaries visible around a heavy brow and two scar-like pits on the cheekbones. A mouth flecked with dots of foam was gaping, revealing lines of jutting, serrated teeth. And the eyes; black, doll-like eyes stared up at them, still hateful and feral in lifelessness.

Vekken chuckled. "Was I not correct, gentlemen, when I told you in the palace that you would learn the fate of our prisoners soon enough?"

Ronon saw hard anger flare in Sheppard's eyes. "These Hounds of yours… They're all Wraiths!" He spat the last word like a curse. "Are you people insane?"

"Far from it," Vekken seemed unconcerned by the colonel's anger. "We have taken our greatest enemy and made them our slaves."

Teyla tried to push the word from her mouth, but she couldn't. The sheer folly of the thought stopped her dead-that someone dared to think they could tame the Wraith like a man might domesticate a canine? It was inviting chaos and destruction!

Daus tipped a wineglass to her in a coy salute. "Ah, the girl has it, at last. I see the understanding in her eyes." He threw a languid look at his daughter, and Erony nodded awkwardly.

McKay had watched the unfolding battle on the hillside through the telescope, hissing in sympathetic pain as Sheppard and Ronon fought off the Hounds, and now he was pacing, flapping his hands in distress. "Let me see if I have this right," he said, his voice high and strident. "Those iron-clad psychos out there are… are…" He blinked. "Good grief, I can barely wrap my head around it… Those things are Wraiths?"

Kelfer tittered. "Bravo, Dr. McKay. Your insight does you credit."

"Don't mock me, you lab hack," Rodney snapped back, angry and afraid all at once, "at least I'm smart enough to know that letting Wraith run wild on your homeworld is a recipe for annihilation!"

"They do not run wild," said Erony, trying to calm the tense atmosphere, "we have tamed them. They are completely under our control."

"Tame?" McKay spluttered. "I'm sorry, but are we talking about the same beings here? Pale faces, teeth and claws, sucking the life out of you through their hands, living off human misery? And you expect us to believe you've taught them to roll over, play dead, and do back-flips?"

Daus shifted in his seat. "Calm yourself, Dr. McKay. You're disturbing the other guests. My dear Erony is quite correct. The Hounds that you see down there, in my palace, or elsewhere… Teyla Emmagan was so eager to know what befell the Wraith taken on the ice moon, and now she does. This is the fate of the Wraith captured alive by our hunt splinters, on dozens of worlds beyond the Great Circlet. We bring them back to Halcyon and teach them discipline, we break them of their free will."

"How can you control them?" asked Teyla.

Minister Muruw touched a finger to his neck. "The Hounds wear a tore about their throat, a choke-collar. It can be adjusted by a trainer to starve them of air and cause them pain. We prevent them from feeding, and instill a service-reward regimen. They obey, and they live. They disobey, and they die. They soon learn to submit."

"And you use them like, what, shock troops?" said Rodney. "That's so twisted its almost clever. No one would ever want to fight hungry, mad Wraith, would they?"

The next question formed in Teyla's mind, and she was almost too afraid to ask it, for fear of what the answer might be. "What do they feed upon?"

"Enemy soldiers on the battlefield, prisoners of war or criminals. Sometimes each other, if they are desperate enough." Kelfer sniffed. "Admittedly, their ongoing well-being is not of great concern to us. They are considered as a military resource, and those that die are regularly replaced by captures from our hunt sorties."

McKay advanced on Daus, but Linnian blocked his path. "Listen to me, you can't treat these things like pet Dobermans, pretending they're house-trained! They are intelligent, ruthless beings! They were smart enough to wipe out the Ancients and you can bet they are smarter than you!"

The Magnate's eyes narrowed. "We have owned Hounds for hundreds of years, Dr. McKay. In all that time, we have remained their masters. Believe me, you have nothing to fear." He smiled again and stifled a mock yawn. "But now, I grow weary and I feel this day's war has become a poor amusement for all. I rule that this match is null. The honor debt of both parties is satisfied, and the battle is at an end." Mingled gasps of disbelief and relief rose in the gallery.

"All that for no result?" said Hill quietly. "Bloody hell."

Daus continued speaking. "Kelfer, we must see to our guest's request to view the dolmen in the coming days, yes? You will liaise with my daughter to see this comes to pass." The Magnate rose, and the assembled nobles bowed. Daus left the room, never seeing that the Atlantis team stayed standing, fighting down the churn of emotions that each of them felt.

The return journey to the capital city took place in grim silence. Sheppard made a curt throat-cutting gesture to the rest of the team as they boarded the gyro-flyer to take them back. Despite a few attempts to start small-talk conversations with them, Erony's adjutant Linnian got nothing but monosyllabic answers. It was only when they were back in the guest quarters that they spoke freely-and even then, only after the colonel had ordered them to check every shady corner for spy holes or possible listening devices.

The Atlantis team sat in a tight circle, heads bowed and voices low. Sheppard briefed Mason and the others in blunt, quick terms, outlining what had taken place out at the war zone. Now and then, Teyla would add a point. Mason said nothing, but once or twice he sucked air in through his teeth. It was the most animated Sheppard had ever seen the dour SAS soldier.

"These toffs are off their heads if they think they can keep the bozos on a chain," said Corporal Clarke. "I mean, you've seen that bunch of chinless wonders. They'll get eaten alive when the Wraith turn up looking for their mates."

"The question is," said Mason, "why hasn't that happened already? His lordship said they they've been at this for what, hundreds of years?"

"True, but you have to remember that the majority of the Wraith have been dormant," noted McKay, flicking a look at Sheppard, "although that's changed recently thanks to certain people."

"Are you ever gonna let me forget about that?" said the colonel tersely. "I don't keep reminding you about that planet you blew up." He puffed out a breath. "Mason's right, though. You have to wonder why the Wraith haven't culled this place into the dirt, and I'm pretty damn sure it's not because the Halcyons are the great warriors they brag they are."

"Location," said Rodney. "Halcyon is a long way off the galactic axis. I'm willing to bet that only reason the Wraith aren't here is because they haven't got around to it yet. There are plenty of rich, cull-able planets much closer to the main concentrations of Wraith activity in the Pegasus Galaxy. But it's only a matter of time. Could be weeks, years, decades… But sooner or later, they'll pop in for a snack."

"So what do we do in the meantime?" said Ronon. "Daus and his nobles are treating us like something to amuse themselves with. I don't think we're going to get anything out of them Atlantis can use."

Mason spoke again. "They may have a rod up their backsides and be in love with the sound of their own voices, but let's not forget, if this city is anything to go by, then Halcyon must have a huge standing army. If we did have a treaty with 'em, they could end up as a strong ally…"

Teyla nodded. "That is true, but could we ever find common ground with them? We share the fight against the Wraith, yes, but their morality is callous and ruthless. I find it difficult to believe that Dr. Weir would be willing to make a pact with someone like Daus."

"There's no getting around it, Staff," added Hill, "the big man, he's a dictator. I joined up to put blokes like him out of a job, not to make friends with them."

Bishop chimed in. "Isn't there anyone else on this planet we could talk to? Get a different point of view?"

"Nice idea, if Daus would let us," said Rodney. "I get the impression he's a bit of a control freak, don't you?"

"Lord Daus rules Halcyon through superior military might," Teyla noted. "Lady Erony's adjutant Linnian took great pains to emphasize this point to me. His clan, the Fourth Dynast, has the largest number of Hounds of all the noble houses on Halcyon. This is how his family have stayed in power for so long."

Ronon snorted derisively. "No wonder he didn't like hearing what McKay wanted to tell him."

Sheppard glanced at his watch, studying the display that showed what the Stargate teams had taken to calling AMT — Atlantis Mean Time. "Look, we're due to touch base with Atlantis soon for our regular sit-rep. Before I talk to Weir, I want to have a handle on this place, from all sides."

"What are you proposing?" asked Teyla.

John got up and walked toward the balcony. He pointed at the streets and buildings beyond the walls of the High Palace. "There's a whole city out there that we haven't seen yet. Everyone we've talked to so far has been rich folks, or the people in their pockets. I think we should hear what the man on the street has to say about life on Halcyon, don't you?"

"Daus will never let you out unescorted," said McKay. "I had three riflemen trailing me the whole time I was with Erony and Kelfer, and we never even left the palace."

"I wasn't thinking about asking permission." Sheppard gave Ronon a crooked smile. "You up for walk?"

Hill frowned. "Boss, you won't get ten feet dressed in our gear. You're gonna need some sort of cover."

As the soldier spoke, a knock sounded at the door and two brown-hooded servants entered, delivering a trolley of food and drink for the evening meal. Ronon gave the servants a measuring stare and smiled. "I don't think that will be a problem."