Blood of Jackals

by Todd Marcelas Moreno

  “You have taken an innocent life, and defiled our sanctuary,” Steuben began, his voice firm. Charid twisted in the grasp of his captors, firing off threats and insults. Steuben turned to the old man he had made his second. “You have been given charge of this sanctuary. What is your judgment?”

  “Wait!" Charid cried, seeing Steuben’s intention. “He’s no elder.”

  Ignoring the rebel’s protests, the old man silently touched a spot below his left ear with his forefinger, and ritualistically moved it across his throat. Charid began to struggle violently, his shouts echoing off the stone walls and ceiling.

  The man had given the sign for the Blood Atonement.

  “Do all concur?” Steuben asked, continuing the ritual. Those not holding the rebel down all repeated the old man’s gesture. “I leave him then to you,” Steuben said, casting Charid a satisfied glance. Still screaming, Charid was taken from the room to where NDB justice would be done. The Colonel walked back to Jayson. The old woman kneeling beside him had already closed Jayson’s eyes.

  “Will you look after him, Sister?” Steuben asked, looking down at the boy.

  “Yes, Elder,” she said, her voice failing for a moment. “I will take care of everything.”

  Steuben smiled briefly and touched her shoulder.

  “Destiny only places you at events,” the woman said to herself as Steuben headed toward the ship. No one would stop the Colonel now. “It gives us no guarantees of their outcome.”

  “No,” Steuben agreed, “but this boy had a role far more important than you know. Without him,” the Colonel clenched his jaw, “well, we all have our purpose in the Divine Plan.”

  The woman nodded wordlessly.

  “Elder!” she called as Steuben stepped into the craft. He turned toward her, seeing Jayson’s hologram disk in her hand. “Take it,” her lips and hands trembled, “in remembrance.”

  “Thank you,” Steuben said, the words clipped and formal. “But perhaps it is better to let it be buried with him. Let what is left of his parents rest with him.”

  The woman stepped back as Steuben closed the ships’ seals. At his signal, the man he had left in charge of the sanctuary pressed the button to close the ship off from the room. The wall sliding back, the Colonel activated the control that opened the tunnel. He then fired the ship’s engine and was pushed back in his seat, adding one more life to his list to avenge as he plunged into the darkness.

  - - -

  XXIII

  Derrick awoke with a gasp. Much of his memory had returned, but he still had no idea where he was, or how he got there. Surveying his surroundings, he looked to be in an examination room, but with the furniture and equipment all scattered about, it seemed that there had been a recent disturbance, if not a fight.

  He tested the bonds on his wrists and ankles. They were strong, but not unbreakable. Following the intravenous lines from his arms, he saw a damaged machine to his right. The tug of a cord revealed a sensor around his head. His captors likely knowing of his psychic ability, the setup would probably shoot him up with drugs if he tried to escape. The two unknowns were what he could do without triggering any drugs, and which ones would be administered, if triggered.

  In studying the Disciplines, Derrick had learned to use his body chemistry to counteract certain drugs. Some he could neutralize quickly, others took longer. A large dose of an unfamiliar drug might overwhelm him, but that the drug might be a poison strong enough to kill him did not weigh heavily in his escape calculations. If he did not escape, he assumed he would die anyway.

  But who had captured him? And how long had he been there?

  Derrick took a deep breath and, with a burst of adrenaline, pulled free from his restraints. He could see the censors that should have registered the connection break, but the damaged machine controlling the drug injection remained silent, saving him from having to neutralize any toxins. Thanking his good fortune, Derrick removed the needles in his arms and removed the sensor ring from his head. This time an alert sounded, with the needles delivering twin dosages which ran out onto the floor. Finally undoing the bindings around his ankles, now Derrick had to figure out how to get out, before someone answered the alarm.

  -

  Alfren heard the alarm from the lab, but remained still, waiting in the darkness for Yeskin to return to his subject.

  “I know you’re in here, Alfren,” Yeskin said to the room, feeling for a control panel near the door, only to find it had been ripped from the wall. “You can’t stay in here forever,” he added, looking about room’s tall cabinets and storage cases before inching his way back. Receiving no reply, Yeskin left.

  Hearing Yeskin’s retreat, Alfren emerged from hiding. He would need a weapon to get out alive. And while Yeskin’s latest captive was powerful, Alfren also figured that he had only gained a little time to find one.

  -

  Derrick psychically swept the area. In one of the rooms, he detected a presence. The person was afraid, and he or she was not far away, but something felt wrong. Derrick’s instincts told him to look to his own escape first. He could send a military detachment later. Cautiously he scanned the area again, this time searching for a way out. He was underground. None of the rooms had a direct exit, but above him were another series of rooms. Now all he had to find was...

  Stairs. Derrick was about to move when he heard movement behind him.

  “Stay where you are,” Yeskin commanded, leveling his lasgun.

  Derrick froze before slowly turning around. He had not sensed the man sneaking up on him. That was a dangerous sign. “Who are you, and what am I doing here?” Derrick asked, gathering in his psychic power around him.

  Seeing a difference in his subject, and knowing his memory bar was gone, Yeskin spoke simply. “I’m a researcher. You’re in an important scientific study.”

  “But why bother with someone like me? I am not worth scientific study.”

  “You’re too modest. Your level of psychic ability is uncommon.”

  “Oh? And what about yours?”

  Yeskin smiled. “Try me,” he replied. The other man’s confidence made Derrick hesitate. “Give me everything you’ve got,” Yeskin added.

  Derrick nodded, but instead of a psychic blast, he sent a mental probe. The man did not seem to have any shields. In fact, it was as if he were not there at all.

  “That’s it?” Yeskin asked. “You hardly looked like you were trying.”

  Derrick looked for clues as to whether the man was a holographic projection. He was not. He was real. Derrick sent out another light burst of psychic energy.

  “Maybe you’re not as powerful as I thought,” Yeskin mused aloud. Again Derrick said nothing. “Still,” Yeskin went on, “you did get out of your restraints.”

  “What happens now?” Derrick asked, looking for something heavy.

  Yeskin smiled again, but his eyes went wide as a portable monitor flew at him. Yeskin fired his lasgun and tried to get out of the way, but the projectile smashed into him. If Derrick’s captor had psychic ability, it was not in telekinesis.

  Derrick psychically ripped the man’s lasgun from the man’s hand and into his own. Yeskin only limped further into the room, favoring his now injured leg.

  “Stay where you are,” Derrick commanded.

  “Just let me sit down,” Yeskin demanded, righting a nearby chair. “You have the lasgun anyway.” Derrick let him sit. “So, Derrick, what now?”

  Derrick did not smile. “Who else is down here?” he asked.

  “No one.”

  “You are lying,” Derrick said, pointing the lasgun at the man’s other leg.

  “My former assistant,” said Yeskin. “He brought you here.”

  “Why is he—” Derrick stopped as he sensed the earlier presence he had detected about to enter the room. Alfren carried something in his hand. Seeing his chance, Yeskin reached behind him and pressed a button under the worktable.

  “No!” Alfren cried as he rushed forward. It w
as too late.

  To Derrick, the pain was an explosion behind his eyes that brought him to his knees. Closing his lids against the room’s searing light, Derrick brought his hands to the sides of his head. Yeskin looked at Alfren with surprise, having expected him to share Derrick’s agony. Familiar with Yeskin’s mode of discipline, Alfren had expected to feel the pain as well. Yet while he was free from it, knowing that Derrick’s ordeal only came through his psychic awareness brought Alfren a different pain. Both men’s hesitation ended however when Alfren and Yeskin each saw the fallen lasgun and dove for it. Yeskin reached it first, although Alfren put in a few slices with his small knife before Yeskin turned on him with his prize.

  Alfren made one more attempt at a lethal blow before grappling with the heavily bleeding Yeskin for control of the weapon, fighting with all he had. Though tired and wounded, Yeskin was the stronger, and slowly pointed the lasgun at his foe. Sweat stung Alfren’s eyes. Grinding his teeth and trembling with the effort, Alfren willed every muscle in his body to move the weapon away.

  It was not enough. Once the weapon neared its mark, Yeskin fired and burned away the right side of Alfren’s neck. Alfren’s felled head hit his shoulder as his body sank to the floor. Catching his breath, Yeskin went to retrieve a medical kit.

  Derrick turned and twisted about on the ground, oblivious to what had just happened. His breathing short and quick, every heartbeat was a new detonation of pain as his brain seemed about to burst free from his skull.

  Yeskin bandaged himself as best he could, but even in his light-headedness, he knew he had lost too much blood, and was still losing it. Alfren’s knife had indeed rendered a lethal blow. Yeskin turned his attention to Derrick.

  “You!” Yeskin rasped. “My work’s not done! It’s over, and it’s your fault!” Yeskin staggered toward Derrick and kicked him in the stomach. “Your fault!”

  Derrick’s mind sank into a sea of agony as his breath was knocked out of him. Falling deeper, he felt detached from his body. He could see the room now, though the image was distorted. When Yeskin lifted him by his shirt, his reddened took up Derrick’s entire field of vision, only to be replaced by stars as Yeskin squeezed his throat. Acting from instinct, Derrick struck out, shattering his assailant’s jaw. His awareness once more connected to himself, Derrick was again engulfed in unmuted agony. This time however, Derrick gave in to primal responses that he had never let surface before, and fought back, enraged.

  Levitating from the floor, Derrick became a wounded animal, slashing the air at unseen foes as blue electrical fire burst from his fingers and ripped into everything in its path. Yeskin’s deadened eyes watched as Derrick flailed about wildly, tapping into hidden depths of power outside his imagining, and drawing on aspects of his psyche that were frighteningly alien.

  The lines of fire running along the room’s walls, floor and ceiling soon triggered the emergency sprinkler system, but Derrick was oblivious to such details as he continued to thrash about in a rampage, suspended in mid-air as he destroyed everything around him, all to end the unbearable pain.

  - - -

  Lying across a couch with his arm over his eyes, Jordan tried to see the event around his idiot nephew Curin in a positive light.

  Disaster had been avoided. Ignoring jurisdictional protests by local authorities, HOPIS had secured the area, retrieved Curin Morays, and whatever evidence he allegedly carried that linked Jordan to the DuCideons, and even rounded up the reporters who were covering the story. For questioning. If artfully employed, Jordan mused, the ongoing HOPIS investigation into Derrick’s disappearance could provide an excuse for almost anything.

  His sister grieving over her fool son also meant that he could expect less interference in planetary affairs. And Curin’s story of his escape from his captors, with him not seeing Derrick since the kidnapping, cast doubt on his return. With coronation preparations still being made, if Derrick were not found soon, Jordan had reason to expect that he would be named grandee.

  But in that darkened room, he knew that it would not be that easy.

  “My Lord?” a servant began, venturing close.

  “What is it?” Jordan asked, his annoyance at the intrusion helping to calm the stress brought on by his nephew’s failed plot.

  “I’ve been bidden to provide this poetry you commanded regarding the petition for leniency by the son of the Marquis of—”

  “I remember,” Jordan interrupted. “But why bring it to me now?”

  “When you granted review of the case, my Lord, you did not grant a stay. Sentence is scheduled to be imposed soon.”

  Jordan sat up. “Give it to me then.” His orders obeyed, Jordan scanned the first few lines from the portascreen he had been handed. “Petition denied,” Jordan declared, returning the item to the servant. “A poet of such merit deserves prison.”

  “But my Lord,” said the servant, “the man is appealing a death sentence.”

  “Then I shall be known as a patron of Art, and its protector as well.”

  The Lord Chamberlain entered to find Jordan still chuckling. “My Lord,” he began. “I am afraid that our troubles with Lord Guishaun have taken a new turn.”

  “He wants to be named Queen?”

  “No, my Lord. Your nephew is calling for a Parliamentary investigation into Lord Curin’s death, and his allegations regarding your supposedly illegal dealings with the DuCideon Brotherhood.”

  Jordan reclined on the couch and covered his eyes with his arm once more. “Of course, he sees no need to investigate the deaths of his father and brother?”

  “No, my Lord. Lord Guishaun has apparently recovered from those losses.”

  Jordan sat up again. “So, how are we explaining Curin’s allegations?”

  “As a manifestation of a psychotic breakdown, my Lord, either caused by his abduction, or induced by his abductors to destabilize the government.”

  “Curin was made crazy, and then died when something finally popped. Good. What do you purpose for my other troublesome nephew?”

  “Perhaps, my Lord, the prospective discovery of evidence of his hand in the murders of Lords Seonas and Varian may persuade him to silence? Evidence that was suppressed, maybe, by First Advisor Sukain, when she was still in power?”

  “What a treacherous bitch,” Jordan remarked. “It is nice to have her around to pin crimes on though. I think I am going to miss her, once she is executed.”

  “Shall I lay the proper foundation for this stratagem, my Lord?”

  “Yes. But do not go to Guishaun until we are ready to bring formal charges.”

  “As you wish, my Lord.” The Chamberlain bowed before leaving.

  Sighing, Jordan returned to his former repose on the couch, wondering if his real problem was simply having too many nephews.

  - - -

  Tracking the vehicle Steuben lent Derrick after their fight with the Dark Witch had been easy. For whatever reason, Derrick had not disabled the craft’s homing mechanism, which Steuben had activated after escaping from the NDB sanctuary. The hard part was coming however: convincing Derrick to trust him.

  Steuben carefully approached the building where the vehicle was left. While no one appeared to be watching the place, and though he only sensed the presence of one person anywhere nearby, he was not taking any unnecessary chances.

  His lasgun held ready and his mental shields up, Steuben entered what he now saw was a dwelling, located the hidden doorway leading to the stairs, and descended toward the person he hoped was Derrick. The burnt smell that greeted him once he reached the end of the stairs was so strong that it settled in his mouth. Steuben followed its trail, and was taken aback at what he saw.

  The room looked like a lasgun-wielding madman had attacked it. No section of wall, ceiling or floor had been spared by the crisscrossing lines of fire. Water was also everywhere. Two of the three bodies he could see were clearly dead. The third was curled up in the center of the room. Steuben psychically scanned the area again before go
ing to the only surviving occupant. It was Derrick.

  His breathing was shallow and labored, and his clothes were wet and stained, but he was alive. “My Lord?” Steuben called, shaking him gently. Derrick stirred.

  “Sire?” Steuben repeated. Derrick opened his eyes partway. His limited response alarmed Steuben. “What happened, my Lord? Can you get up?”

  “Colonel Steuben?” Derrick asked. “Is that you?”

  Steuben sighed in relief. “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Colonel,” Derrick wheezed. “I am sure glad to see you.”

  Surprised, Steuben smiled. “And I am glad to be seen, my Lord.”

  - - -

  Multiple blasts battered the shields of the NDB Temple Complex in Carran, further damaging the base structure that had already been shaken and jolted from prior attacks. Finally the inevitable occurred, and the building’s shields collapsed, allowing a new barrage of fire to destroy the NDB stronghold to its foundations.

  Sitting in the dining area of a rented suite, Vaid Ketrick smiled. It was not the first time he had seen the images on the nearby viewscreen, but witnessing the downing of the NDB’s largest and most important temple on the planet salved the loss of his DuCideon headquarters. His satisfaction was incomplete however. The rumors were that Chais Wyren had survived.

  “Wyren was gone long before the collapse,” Ketrick said as he ate, forking a blue potato pared down to a near perfect sphere. “The only question is to where.”

  “There are reports that the NDB have a large underground facility in the mountain desert area due south of Carran,” a man said, standing next him. He was Ketrick’s new second in the reconstituted DuCideon organization. “It was meant to be a gathering place for the NDB faithful, in case of planetary disaster.”

  “Meaning he can hold up in his fortress for a long time,” Ketrick breathed.

  “He is just as trapped as he is protected, Lord.”

  “Yes,” Ketrick replied, “and I suppose I should be content that he has gone into hiding, likely with some of his forces. I had wanted him dead, however.”