“Your body does, my Lord. Someone with the Training brought you to the cusp of death and held you there. It must have been... most terrible.”
“You can tell that from reading his body?” Steuben asked.
The Soror looked at Steuben. Her eyes shimmered. “The body has its own memory. Its own record.” She looked back to Derrick. “When this occurred, you were fully aware. The agony was real for you.”
Derrick took her hand. “I remember nothing,” he repeated. The Soror looked away and resumed her examination, only to stiffen with a sharp intake of breath.
“What is it now?” Steuben asked.
“There is cellular damage in the brain. An internal trauma. It could explain the memory loss, but it is not one of any normal traceable cause.”
“His Lordship had a mental bar placed over his memory,” said Steuben. Both Derrick and the Soror looked at him.
“Whoever put it there may have also placed a trap. That would explain the physical damage, my Lord,” the Soror said. “I am ready to share with you my findings regarding your physiological condition. I can give you the certification the Colonel envisioned, with one exception. You have had at least one psychic implant, the mental bar. I do not know if it is still there, or if you have other implants waiting to be triggered. For me to look into these matters, you will have to lower your mental shields completely.”
Steuben came forward. “That would be against every security—”
“Colonel,” the Soror interrupted. “You knew of the mental bar, and so knew that it would come to this. My Lord, you will be fully aware at all times. I can also link Colonel Steuben in, so that he can monitor the examination, if you wish. If I do so however, he too will be inside your inner shields.”
“Do it,” Derrick replied, looking at Steuben. “I want to know who did this.”
Steuben nodded. “I have a suspicion, my Lord, but would like to hold off so the Soror can conduct her examination without prejudice.”
“Very well,” Derrick said, fully lowering his mental shields.
It was a feeling of nakedness beyond the physical kind. Without his mental shields, Derrick was completely vulnerable. It took all his control to suppress the gag-like reflex that repeatedly moved him to raise them. Only the presence of Steuben, standing guard on the periphery, let Derrick relax enough to allow the Soror’s awareness to enter his mind. Still Derrick shuttered as she did so.
“Yes, this is much better,” the Soror began, assessing Derrick’s condition to a degree that would otherwise have been impossible. “You were lucky, my Lord. I can see where the energy build-up began. As it smoldered, it gathered strength. Someone must have opened a door. They were probably trying to remove the mental bar when the psychic power gathered together, bursting forth in a single blast through... this path here.”
“Are you an expert in psychic forensics as well?” Steuben asked.
“Lord Derrick wants to know who did this to him,” the Soror replied. “To answer that, it would be helpful to know exactly what was done to him. This exit corridor seems a little too clear. It is not consistent with the rest of the area. Did the person who helped you draw out the energy this way on purpose?”
“I do not know,” Derrick answered.
“Why do you ask?” said Steuben.
“The blast was meant to kill Lord Derrick. Drawing the amount of energy involved here into oneself was extremely dangerous. Even foolhardy, unless the person was willing to sacrifice himself to save Lord Derrick. By the way, my Lord, you have done an excellent job mending where you did.”
“I had to resist the temptation of going further,” Derrick admitted.
“You did just enough, my Lord. I believe I have seen what I need in this regard. Now, can you share with me exactly where the gaps in your memory lie?”
Derrick had anticipated the request and complied. As one block of awareness, Derrick’s memory from just before his kidnapping to the present spread out before him. Blackened areas held the space of those memories that were lost. At the fringes were dark unfocused images, mere fragments of memory that Derrick could not recognize. Slowly, as the Soror regenerated Derrick’s mind, and used her psychic powers to draw on what images she could through her vision, Derrick could see the fragments clarify and expand. Only small gaps were filling in however. Large sections were still missing, and Derrick feared that they were gone forever.
“You are correct, my Lord,” the Soror whispered as she sat back in her chair. “You will not regain it all. There may be more I can do, but let us wait for now.”
“I understand,” Derrick said. “I am somewhat tired myself.”
The Soror stood from her chair. “I leave you then, my Lord.”
“Soror,” Derrick said, taking her hand. “Do you know who did this to me?”
“The woman in that cave where your friend was killed was a Dark Witch,” the Soror replied. She glanced at Steuben. “They were after you. If Dark Witches were involved, your cousiné Lilth Morays was also involved. There is no proof, but it is almost certain.”
Derrick nodded his appreciation.
“My Lord,” she continued. “I need not tell you how dangerous an enemy Lady Voxny can be. More so for you, as she has seen your mind. I strongly suggest that you not meet her again until you have had the chance to reorder your mental defenses. Otherwise, she will have a great advantage over you.”
The Soror gave Derrick a short bob of her head and departed.
“Good God, Steuben,” Derrick breathed. “Lilth is against me too?”
“We’ll cross that bitch when we get to it, my Lord,” Steuben replied dryly. “For now, you should rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
- - -
XXV
It was not the most fail-safe of plans.
Certain that the Mistress of Crucidel had taken new precautions against him entering her lair with a psychic projection, Ashincor knew that his best chance for discovering what he needed to know was to sneak inside, personally. Doing this of course involved finding a servant whom he could not only impersonate well enough to fool Crucidel’s identification measures, and any passersby who knew him, but who also had access to Lilth Morays’ personal rooms.
The man Ashincor settled on did not hold high rank amongst the serving staff, but after selectively viewing portions of his memory, Ashincor was satisfied with his selection. This gave him limited comfort however as Ashincor, dressed in black and gray livery, approached the double-doors leading to Lilth’s apartments.
Ashincor opened one of the doors and was immediately greeted by the cries of children. Putting aside caution, he rushed in and willed his eyes to adjust instantly to the darkness. But no one was there. And yet the cries continued.
Steeling himself, Ashincor readjusted his eyes, took a small lamp from his pocket, and activated it. He gasped at the sight.
Rows of shelving filled the room, like curio-cases, only instead of trinkets and oddities, dolls occupied every space. At least what was left of what had once been dolls. Burned and mutilated, nearly all were barely recognizable for what they were. From those dolls less damaged however, the cries still came.
Only then did Ashincor realize that he was not so much hearing them as psychically sensing them. Those dolls still crying each housed some awareness. They were the prisons of splintered minds. Ashincor wanted to destroy them, to free whatever tortured souls still lay within. But he had other priorities. He could not risk alerting Lilth Morays to his presence so soon. If he could indeed save these wrecked shadows of humanity, he would have to do it later.
Pressing forward, he entered another room. Here the furnishings were pristine, though among the items suspended over pedestals and small tables was another doll. Beside it, floating over its own display stand, was a dagger. The doll was dressed in the habit of a soror of one of the Holy Orders. Recognizing which one, he easily identified the figure as Soror Cathena Barell.
Ashincor probed the shielding around the dol
l with his mind. Though the mechanically generated field was laced with psychic power, he could see that this doll was also an abominable prison. But what information might it have? If the doll had been there since Seffan Possór’s trial, as was likely, perhaps it knew something of Derrick. Ashincor glanced uncomfortably at the dagger again before focusing his awareness and projecting his thoughts.
“Soror Barell,” he called silently, after carefully breaching its shielding.
“I am here, Patér Linse,” the doll replied, “or at least enough to remember who I was. Too long have I lingered here in isolation. Is Lord Derrick safe?”
“He has been found,” Ashincor said cautiously. “But he has not returned to the Palace.”
“Then his life is still in danger.”
“What have you foreseen?”
“Since the time of Derrick’s escape from Crucidel,” the doll began, “my vision has been blocked. My knowledge may thus be obsolete. Nonetheless, prudence dictates that you not let Derrick confront Lilth Morays alone.”
“She and her brother are at Pablen Palace now.”
“There they will wait for him.”
“Then I must return. But first...” Ashincor sighed. “My daughter, Cassandra.” He swallowed. “I have long suspected that Lilth Morays was involved in her murder. Can you tell me about the dagger next to you?”
“This shielding binds me. But if I am counted as one of Lilth’s...prized mementos, surely that knife has special meaning as well.”
“How can I get it out from behind its shielding?”
“I do not know. But take care. Its defenses will be more than mechanical.”
Ashincor was about to withdraw his thoughts when he remembered himself. “I will come back to free you, Soror.”
“Thank you, though Lady Morays may discharge your task when she discovers that I helped you. Still, may I burden you with one more thing?”
Ashincor replied affirmatively before he could stop himself. It was odd, speaking to this construct as if it were an independent being. The ancient teachings of his church said that it was not, of course. But the illusion of reality it artificially created was compelling.
“I do not know what has become of my true self. The Soror Barell on the planet Valier has been severed from me since Derrick’s escape.”
“Does that truly matter to you?” Amazed by the sense of motivation exhibited by the doll, Ashincor again wondered at the level of dignity he had been taught to treat such a thing. This was not a person, after all. Cathena Barell was on Valier. And yet….
“Only in this: She had a vision before leaving Legan, one with relevance only if Derrick survived, and was formally crowned. It was of a child. Their child. She left Legan pregnant.”
Ashincor nearly lost his hold over his projection. “Why do you tell me this?”
“Because the vision showed her death. And if it comes to pass, someone must know to seek the child, whose existence must remain secret for now, lest it too be killed. I am aware of no one else who knows of your grandchild, Patér Linse. And if I too am destroyed…”
“I understand,” Ashincor replied, suppressing a shiver. If his truthsense could be rightfully applied to this doll, he knew beyond all doubt that it spoke the truth. “I will keep this secret for now, until I can contact Soror Barell on Valier.”
“Thank you, Patér,” the doll said.
Ending his contact with the doll, Ashincor turned to the dagger. As expected, he could not read anything from it beyond its physical nature. To get anything more, he would need to hold it. Studying its shielding, he detected no psychic augmentation. Electronic technology was the only thing at work here. Finding the mechanism powering the shielding, he deactivated it.
Held aloft only by its protective field, the dagger fell with the shield, hitting the top of its pedestal before clamoring to the floor. Ashincor did not even have time to bend down to retrieve it before seeing a blinking light at the center of the display top, and hearing the ensuing security alarm. The former Lord Linse swore an oath. Who but an aspiring thief would have guessed so simple a precaution as a pressure monitor on the display stand?
Returning to the room where he had entered, Ashincor held out his hand and psychically barricaded the double-doors with shelving cases. Turning to the only other door he could see, he did the same. That would buy him some time. Facing the room’s windows, he extended his hand once more and blasted through the curtains and glass, triggering another alarm outside. Hoping Ansel was still in position, Ashincor jumped onto the window’s ledge, glancing back at the fallen dagger to psychically call it to his hand, and regretting it.
As his bare hand touched the metal of the hilt, a vision engulfed him.
“You know it must be done, Seffan.” It was the voice of Lilth Morays. The dagger that Ashincor now held moved from one person’s hand to another. “And you can trust no one else.”
“But can you not do it, Cousin? Please?” The voice of Seffan Possór.
“I can’t get close and still hide my presence,” said Lilth, sounding resentful. “She has set too many psychic wards in there for me to come near her. Only you can go through them freely, and approach as she sleeps without alerting her.”
Ashincor’s staring eyes watered as the dagger entered Cassand’s bedroom, its wielder gripping it tight. The former Lord Linse had been in that room. He had seen his daughter lying there in that very bed. He had seen the dagger brought across her throat. The bloody deed done, within a now trembling hand, the dagger was given back to one whose hand was cold and firm.
“It is for the best, Cousin,” said Lilth. “She would have betrayed us.”
“She loved me,” Seffan whispered.
“She loved her own sense of righteousness more. Her very prideful notion of honesty made her untrustworthy. You saw that long ago.”
“I know, Cousin.”
The vision faded as Ashincor heard lasfire cutting through his barricades. He had lost precious time. Using cloth from the hem of his jacket, he pocketed the dagger, and again jumped to the windowsill. A quick psychic scan focused his eyes on where Ansel hid with a transport vehicle. Somehow Ansel seemed further than expected, but now was not the time to ask questions. Now he would put to test an application of one of his newly learned Disciplines.
Opening his awareness to the area around him, Ashincor jumped. But instead of falling to the open courtyard below, he psychically pulled out of his dive and released the gathered fabric hidden in his servant’s uniform, fortifying it, and forming it into a set of billowy wings that any Dark Witch would have envied.
Lasfire showered down on him, but Ashincor’s psychic shield held as he maintained the solidity of his artificial wings and propelled himself toward Ansel. It was now a race. More fire came as he cleared Crucidel’s outer perimeter and, lacking sufficient wind, Ashincor lessened his shield in favor of acceleration.
He was within eye contact of Ansel when successive blasts shattered his shield and then burned through him and one of his wings. Ashincor ignored the pain as he continued to steer toward safety, letting his wings collapse while powering himself forward by sheer force of will.
The last thing Ashincor sensed was crashing into the side of Ansel’s vehicle.
- - -
Patér Rector Warek sat in his office with the lights dimmed and his fingers steepled on his desk. How should he play this?
Derrick had come to him, and was currently under his protection. Even now, certain nobles and other members of government service known to be opposed to his cousiné Jordan were being called for a meeting, which was being kept secret, since Jordan and his witch sister would sooner see Derrick dead than reinstalled at Pablen Palace. The same could be said about the Consortium, and any of the other criminal elements on Legan. But one could wonder how quick any of the latter would be to have Derrick removed permanently. And what of the New Dawn Believers? Could they yet be moved back to Derrick’s side, bringing along their satellites and confederat
es in support of his restoration?
The Patér Rector pressed a button on his desk and normalized the room’s lighting. “I need to speak with Allenford Biam,” he said over his com-link.
“At once, Patér Rector,” came the reply. The Patér Rector had only activated his viewscreen when his assistant called back. “I have him, Patér Rector.”
Warek lifted an eyebrow. That was faster than he expected. Was the former government advisor not sleeping well? “Put him on screen,” Warek instructed.
“Good morning, Patér Rector Warek,” Biam said as his image illuminated the room. Warek smiled. It was morning local time.
“Greetings, Advisor Biam,” he replied, using Biam’s more prestigious former title. “I hope that this is not a bad time.”
“God’s work goes on day and night here,” Biam assured him.
Warek nodded, acknowledging the message. Biam was not a religious man. By making a reference to the Divine, he was telling Warek that at least one NDB was with him. “Yes, well, I have some information for you. Are you still involved in the marriage negotiations with House Tehasing?” Before Derrick dismissed him from service, Biam had been sent to Lord Tehasing to continue work on a marriage alliance. After he left the government and joined with the NDB, Biam had been reassigned to the project, albeit with another set of objectives.
“No,” Biam said carefully. “After the abduction, all talks were put on hold.”
“So you are not working on an arrangement involving Lord Jordan?”
Biam smiled. “Patér Rector, I promise to do all that I can to get you invited to any royal wedding for which I have the privilege of facilitating.”
Warek smiled back. “You are kind, Advisor Biam. Of course, if I may suggest, it may be best to refocus on Derrick’s marriage for now.”
Biam’s brow narrowed as another man stepped into view.
“Are you trying to tell us our business, Warek?” the other man asked.
“Patér Rector,” Biam said, “this is Avid Gardet. You remember his brother.”
Blood of Jackals Page 39
