Blood of Jackals

by Todd Marcelas Moreno

  “Don’t the instruments tell you?”

  “They were damaged in the... explosion. What happened anyway?”

  “He was right about a trap. When I breached the bar, there was an energy build-up. It would’ve killed him if I hadn’t diverted it.”

  “At me,” Yeskin breathed.

  “It happened too fast for any warning. I should’ve been more careful.”

  “Humph. Lucky that most of the discharged psychic energy probably formed into a mental attack,” Yeskin replied, without any intended humor. “Otherwise I could’ve been really hurt.”

  “Yes. Your natural defense against psychic attacks. Lucky.”

  “Now, come here and help,” Yeskin ordered, tilting his head toward Derrick.

  Alfren came to stand on the other side of Derrick, away from Yeskin. Yeskin waited as Alfren concentrated and suddenly furrowed his brow. Turning his head from side to side in alarm, Alfren opened his eyes with a sudden intake of breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Yeskin asked.

  Alfren stared at Yeskin, his panic rendering him speechless.

  “What is it?” Yeskin demanded.

  “I can’t... I... can’t read him. I can’t do anything!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The psychic burst. It must have—I’ve been burned through!”

  “Burned?”

  “Don’t you understand? I’ve lost my psychic power!”

  “Calm down. At least you’re still alive.”

  “Can you do something? Do you know how to restore...?” Alfren stopped before Yeskin’s stony face. Yeskin did not have psychic abilities. If he knew how to bestow them, would he not have tried to awaken his own powers first?

  “It could be only temporary,” Yeskin suggested finally.

  “And if it isn’t?”

  “Then hope you can convince one of the religious orders to help you.”

  “You know they won’t help me. Not after all I’ve done. They’ll know, too. I can’t even hide myself from their mental probes. They’ll review my past!”

  “Then hope it’s only temporary,” said Yeskin, unmoved by Alfren’s hysteria.

  “What about giving me a psychic defense like yours? Your father did that for you, right? His research. He must have discovered a way to be immune...” Again Alfren confronted a face of stone. “Please, Yeskin. You have to help me.”

  “There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Then I’ll find someone who can.” Alfren walked toward the door.

  Unseen by Alfren, Yeskin tried to transmit a pulse to Alfren’s pain implant. Evidently it had also been damaged. “Wait,” Yeskin said, reaching into a drawer. “All right. I’ll try.”

  Alfren turned, only to see Yeskin advancing with a lasgun in his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” said Yeskin. “I can’t let you put my research at risk.”

  “Then help me,” Alfren pleaded. Yeskin shook his head slowly.

  Alfren dodged the blast before it was fired. Making it past the door, he closed it behind him, and barricaded it with what furniture was at hand. Sweat appeared on his face as he heard and smelled lasfire begin to cut through.

  Crashing through the splintered doorway, Yeskin caught a glimpse of Alfren as he closed yet another door. Yeskin leveled his weapon to fire, but stopped. Both knew the layout of the underground facility. There were only so many ways for Alfren to escape. The problem was, he was unlikely to remain unarmed.

  - - -

  “My Lady,” said a servant as he entered Lilth’s chambers. Lilth was on a table, peeking under the towel of her otherwise naked masseur. “Lord Jordan is on a com-channel, and says Lord Curin is about to give a news conference.”

  “What?” Lilth said, snapping her head around. “Put them both on the screen.” The servant complied as Lilth sat up and wrapped herself with her sheet.

  “Curin is betraying us,” Jordan said, moving close to the camera. The image he received showed only Lilth’s head. “He has renounced the Morays’ name, and has implicated Cary as well.”

  Lilth waved for silence as the media report from the remote area of Vengraff continued. “Lord Curin,” said a reporter, “have you any news on Lord Legan?”

  “No. When my memory came back, it was like waking up. The last thing I remember was a nightclub, where I hear we were abducted.”

  “He is pretending that what was done to Derrick was done to him,” Jordan said, not bothering to hide his contempt.

  “At least he is being consistent,” Lilth replied.

  “But what happens when he is examined by truthseers? His memory is completely intact. And he knew what was going on from the very beginning.”

  “They will not subject him to that,” Lilth said, though without conviction.

  “He was kidnapped with the still missing ruler of the planet and escaped. Do you think the local authorities there will not try to wring all the information they can out of him? They will want to take any credit they can in rescuing Derrick.”

  “Why should we care about locals? This is a matter for HOPIS.”

  “Curin has invoked royal privilege in refusing to go with any HOPIS agents, and Vengraff’s regional lord is supporting his claim. Even if I were to formally order Curin’s arrest, resolving the jurisdictional issue will take some time.”

  “Lord Curin,” said another reporter. “What of the information that was found with you regarding your uncle, Lord Jordan, and the DuCideon Brotherhood?”

  “Lilth!” Jordan cried. Lilth shushed him.

  “I don’t know much about it,” Curin replied. “I probably had it with me when I escaped, but I don’t remember how I got it.”

  “We have heard that the information concerns illegal commercial operations by the DuCideon Brotherhood, and the involvement of Lord Jordan, care to comment, Lord Curin?”

  “I haven’t read it yet,” Curin responded, “or if I did, I don’t remember it.”

  “Is there any connection between those involved in these illegal operations and your abductors, Lord Curin?” asked another journalist.

  “That wouldn’t surprise me,” Curin answered.

  “Enough questions for now,” said a woman next to Curin. “Lord Curin is tired, and still must talk with our local case investigators.” Curin turned and gave the woman a surprised look. A reporter’s voice overlaid the newscene as Curin was escorted from the podium.

  “Stop your son, Sister,” Jordan hissed. “Or he will kill us all. Even Cary.”

  “No,” Lilth exhaled, her thoughts racing.

  “We do not have much time,” Jordan insisted. “Curin is probably being taken to a truthseer even now. This whole news conference was just outside a law enforcement building.”

  “But he would not... surely he prepared himself for...how would he know they would subject him to mind scans by—?”

  “Because it is obvious!” Jordan yelled, his eyes rolling skyward. “Even if he was... less than thorough in planning this scheme of his, there is only one reason to bring up information on our activities with the Brotherhood —to attack us!”

  “Why?” Lilth murmured, still in thought. “Why?”

  “Curin is making a bid for the throne,” Jordan said.

  “No!” Lilth cried.

  “My Lady,” interrupted her servant, “several communications are coming in regarding Lord Curin. Including an urgent one from Lord Cary. Would you—?”

  “Let them wait,” Lilth ordered, closing her eyes. “I need to talk to Curin.” Lilth Morays psychically activated the mental link between herself and her son.

  “What is going on, Curin?” Lilth said with her thoughts.

  “Mom!” Curin answered. “What do I do? They’re taking me to a truthseer! They weren’t supposed to do that. They promised.”

  “What do you remember of Derrick’s kidnapping?” Lilth asked, hoping against reason that he had already excised portions of his memory, as a precaution.

  “Everything! I didn’t th
ink they would make me go through a memory scan. They can’t do that to me, can they?”

  “What about the information on your uncle and the Brotherhood?” Lilth asked, her eyes deadened. “Why did you bring that up?”

  “Oh, Mom. I’m sorry. That Tenatte bastard tricked me.”

  “You went to speak with the Consortium?”

  “They all lied to me, Mom!”

  “Share with me what was said,” Lilth commanded.

  Curin was even more horrified. “No, Mom. Not now. We need to figure out what to do about the truthseer. I’m almost—”

  Lilth Morays activated another psychic implant in her son’s mind, giving her access to his memory. Yes, Curin had not anticipated any truthseer examination. And yes, such a scan would reveal everything they had done to Derrick. And with Curin in custody, it would all be provable. As for the Consortium, it was as she feared. Curin had gone to them. He wanted the throne of Legan. The plan was all his: renounce House Morays, implicate his brother Cary, take the throne, and still get the holdings of House Morays through criminal forfeiture. It was all there before her, her own son’s bold but stupid plan. And no amount of her normal excuse-making could wipe her son’s deeds away.

  “If you had just waited, Curin,” Lilth said sadly, “you would have had more wealth than you could have spent.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Curin said, aware of what his mother now knew. “What do I do? How do I block my memory from a truthseer?”

  “You can’t,” Lilth whispered with her thoughts. “I would’ve had to do it. But not from this distance.”

  “Oh God,” Curin shot back. “What will they do to me? Exile me? Imprison me in some small rundown palace, like Uncle Seonas?”

  “Not for treason,” Lilth replied with a sigh.

  “You mean they’ll execute me?” Curin said doubtfully. “But Uncle Jordan is Regent...”

  “Most in Parliament would do it no matter what your uncle might say, Curin,” Lilth said. “And they would not stop with just you.”

  “So how do we stop them?”

  “I love you, my son,” Lilth said. “With all my heart.”

  “Huh? Why are you... what?”

  Curin Morays, walking somewhere on the other side of the planet, fell to the floor dead without warning. Her eyes still closed, Lilth Morays grabbed a nearby piece of furniture to steady herself as her sheet fell away. Unware of her own nakedness, Lilth still turned from the viewscreen and her brother’s image.

  “Lilth,” Jordan said softly, “it had to be—”

  “It is done, Jordan,” she said without looking up. “And Curin is gone.”

  Jordan relaxed again. “I am sorry,” he said. “It was—”

  “Answer these incoming communiqués for me,” Lilth interrupted. “Will you? Just remain quiet about Curin until the news is released.”

  “What about the material on the Brotherhood?”

  “We cannot comment on something we haven’t seen,” Lilth replied. “Go now, Jordan. I need to be alone for a while.”

  “Very well, Lilth,” Jordan said, signing off.

  - - -

  Steuben had no way of knowing how long it would take the soldiers to overcome the sanctuary’s multi-layered shielding. A psychic probe would risk confirming his presence. More, such knowledge would only be useful if he had an alternative course of action. As it was, his best hope was for the shielding to hold long enough for the winds of battle to change, or for his pursuers to decide that he was no longer worth apprehending. But those were false hopes.

  Regardless of the state of the overall battle, the soldiers seemed determined to find him. And they knew he was close, which meant they would go through every one of the sanctuary’s shields to reach his hiding place. Then it would not matter what he told them. Even trading Derrick, the rightful ruler of Legan, would not save his life. Chais Wyren wanted him dead. Lilth Morays wanted his head, and her wish was her brother Jordan's command.

  “Those fornicating dung-danglers,” the Colonel rumbled.

  “Elder?” Steuben’s appointed second gasped, shocked at such language from an NDB leader. Steuben slowly swiveled in his chair.

  I am getting old, the Colonel thought. “Yes?” he answered, watching the man nervously squeeze his left hand with his right.

  “You know I’d never say anything in front of the others.” The older man looked like his teeth were about to be removed without anesthetic. “But is it right to risk everyone’s life for just one person? For if he’s not one of the Faithful...”

  “Some of our greatest brethren were once nonbelievers,” Steuben replied, grateful for the man’s trivial distraction. “This boy may have a great destiny to fulfill. What if this life that you would sacrifice is one that will make a difference in ending the conflict raging above us? If one person accepting his assigned role in these twisted events could save the lives of thousands?”

  “Has your vision foretold this boy’s destiny, Elder?” the old man asked, his excitement at being near someone so important fanning his ingrained readiness to believe in NDB miracles. Steuben knew some NDB theology, but NDB gullibility for the fantastical still surprised him.

  “I cannot be certain,” Steuben said. “Piercing the Veil of Time is best left to specialists, which I am not. Still, my sense on this is strong.”

  “Then maybe you should use the escape-ship here, Elder.” The man saw Steuben’s eyes widen. “You do know about it—?” The end of the man’s question remained suspended and then forgotten as Steuben scanned his thoughts. Rather than get the information he needed through a conversation that others could hear, the Colonel delved into the man’s memory. The only problem was that man did not know exactly where the escape-ship was hidden.

  Upon release, the other man had an altered recollection of their exchange. “I’ll find out about the escape-ship, Elder,” he said. “And I won’t say anything about the boy.” Steuben nodded, dismissing him.

  Once the man was gone, the Colonel saw Jayson stir from the corner of his eye. “You were listening,” he said, turning in his chair. The boy stood, reluctantly nodding his head. “Well tell me, Son,” Steuben asked, “do you have some great purpose to fulfill? A destiny the universe requires of you?”

  The boy shook his head. Then slowly, seeming to correct him, the boy pointed at Steuben. As the boy’s finger leveled at him, Henrald Steuben felt something grip him from inside. The sensation was only for a moment, but Steuben was grateful to be sitting down.

  “You are mistaken, Son,” Steuben finally breathed, a chill passing through him. “I have no great destiny. I’m unworthy of one.”

  “Why?”

  Steuben laughed bitterly. “Because I’m a fool. A turncoat betrayer betrayed by turncoats. A knight-whore.” The Colonel smiled. “And a damned thirsty one too. I just hope the bastards up there will give a fellow soldier one last drink.”

  Jayson’s forehead creased as he tilted his head.

  “Son, if those soldiers find me,” Steuben explained with his thoughts, confident the boy would hear them. And remain silent. “I’m dead.”

  “And Lord Derrick?” Jayson asked.

  Steuben stiffened as his NDB second rushed toward him. “Elder,” the man said, “I’ve found escape-ship, but it holds only one person.”

  “Show me,” said the Colonel said, glancing back at the boy before nearly leaping from his chair. As they walked, Steuben noted the worried looks on some people’s faces. Others looked only curious. Charid’s expression was unreadable.

  The man leading Steuben pressed a button near the door of an adjacent room. The far wall slid to the side, revealing a one-man fighter-craft. Before it was a hatchway that the Colonel guessed led to a secret tunnel to the planet surface. Behind him Steuben felt the others crowd in, all wanting to see the shiny ship. Some even commented on the outer lascannons mounted on both sides of the pilot’s seat. Steuben edged them back, stopping when it became clear that the room could not accommodate eve
ryone without some crowding.

  “Perfect,” Steuben said finally, smiling at the other older man. “Now you can answer the soldiers above once—” Steuben reached for his lasgun, knowing it was already gone. As gasps filled the room, he addressed the one who had taken it before even turning to look. “You can be excommunicated for this, Charid.”

  “And who would officiate that?” Charid pointed the gun at Steuben’s heart. “You? You’re no elder. You didn’t even know about the escape-ship. And now, after putting us all in danger, you want to leave and save your own skin.”

  “Only I can do what needs to be done,” Steuben said slowly. “I cannot explain it all now, but if I do not go, the alternative will be far worse for everyone.”

  “You’re the one the soldiers want,” Charid charged, “aren’t you?”

  Steuben did not flinch. “Those soldiers are looking for Lord Derrick Possór, the rightful Lord of Legan, and anyone who can lead them to him.”

  Charid’s mouth fell before a renewed smugness settled upon his face. “You’re also the one the Assembly is looking for,” he said, straightening his aim.

  “What do you know of the Assembly?” Steuben breathed, his muscles tensing. Few besides the rebels called their leadership by that name.

  “Why nothing, Colonel Steuben,” Charid replied mockingly. “What a pity. We just truly met, and yet so quickly we have to say goodbye.” Charid pulled the trigger, only to realize that a small form had flung itself in front of his target.

  Surprised, but indifferent toward the innocent he shot, Charid set to fire the lasgun again when the woman who had spoken for the child screamed and came at him. Others followed, and wrestled the rebel to the ground. Steuben held the boy up as his life ebbed away. There was nothing he could do.

  “Why?” Henrald asked. ‘Why?” In his thoughts, he heard a piping voice.

  “Because the alternative would be worse...”

  Steuben’s breath cut short as he closed his eyes. After a moment, he gently laid the boy’s body on the floor and walked toward Charid. The rebel’s face was steeled with a look of defiance, but the Colonel saw the sweat welling across his forehead. The thought occurred to him to ask Charid whether he was a rebel spy or a deserter, but the answer did not really matter.