Blood of Jackals

by Todd Marcelas Moreno

  “You know that it was never our goal to end Possór rule here.”

  “When has the Consortium ever cared who rules, so long as profits come in?”

  “So, if the Possórs are out, the Assembly will ignore our operations?”

  “That depends on what sort of arrangement we can work out.”

  Tenatte swirled the contents of a glass and drank it, wondering if he should not just kill Valmont right then and there. “And what of your wish to avenge yourself upon your father?”

  “That must wait. Until the Assembly gets all it can from the NDB Church.”

  “What if I can create a chance for you to kill him yourself?”

  “What good is revenge if you are not around to gloat over it?”

  “I’m not suggesting a suicide mission, though any attack on your father will carry some risk.” Tenatte spun the liquid in his glass again. “Our hand cannot be seen in these attacks, not with the threat of total forfeiture over our heads should our hostilities with the NDB continue.”

  “But eliminating Lord Derrick would eliminate that threat.”

  “Regardless, your risk would be less than ours.” Once more Tenatte moved around his glass, his eyes fixed on his guest. “Tell your Assembly that we will accept your offer to attack government targets. I leave it to you to plan the missions and, if your father just happens to be at any of the targets, so be it. Payment, of course, will be at current mercenary rates.”

  “We are not mercenaries.”

  “You are offering to fight for us, subject to payment, without believing in our cause. What else would you call yourselves?”

  “We fight for our own cause. We demand payment only to finance our continuing struggle.”

  Tenatte shrugged. “Well mercenaries fight for profit, so consider the extra amount we pay you to be a windfall. In any event,” he resumed before Valmont could say anything, “let’s be clear: Your father dies, along with Lord Derrick, no matter what.”

  “Agreed,” said Valmont, holding back a smile. “I will inform the Assembly. But tell me, Tenatte. What special reason do you have to kill my father?”

  “He is an arrogant, self-righteous bastard,” the Tenatte replied, remembering the NDB attack that nearly ended his life. “What other reason do I need?”

  - - -

  XXVII

  “Welcome back, Patér,” Dolfini said as Ashincor opened his eyes. “Again.”

  A quick look told Ashincor that he was no longer at the inn near Crucidel. But damn did his back hurt like a demon. Closing his eyes briefly, he psychically willed the pain away.

  “You are lucky you can still do that,” Patér Dolfini remarked. “You had so many burns and chunks missing, I had a tough time saving you.”

  “But you did not finish the job.”

  “Because you did not have enough extra cells for me to manipulate,” Dolfini replied. “You are too thin. What did you expect me to do? Patch you up with pieces of stray animals?”

  “You would not have had to kill anything,” Ashincor scolded, though with little energy, “just use some blood cells. They are easy to transform for healing.”

  “What am I, a vampire? Do you know how much blood I would have needed to replace all the tissue you lost, let alone the bone?”

  “How long have I been out?” Ashincor asked, unwilling to admit that Dolfini was right as he looked about for something.

  “Long enough for you to wake up and heal your own ungrateful self.”

  “Are you looking for that dagger, Master?” Ansel asked, coming in with some food. After setting down the tray over Ashincor’s bed, the young acolyte pointed to an ornate knife on nearby dresser. Ashincor sighed in relief.

  “You have done well, Ansel,” Ashincor said, quickly eating his food. The faster his body converted its energy, the faster he could psychically regrow his cells still lost or damaged.

  “More than well,” said Dolfini. “Do you know what it took to get you here?”

  “Go ahead and tell me,” Ashincor said to Dolfini between bites, “Mother.”

  “Lord Derrick is back at Pablen Palace,” said Dolfini.

  Trying to sit up further, Ashincor was stopped not by pain, but by lack of muscle. Dolfini had not been joking about what the lasfire had done to him. “And you have just let me sleep?”

  “You needed the rest,” Dolfini replied. “You still do. Do you really think you are ready to face Lilth Morays in your condition?”

  “Who says—?”

  “Save it,” Dolfini cut in. “I know the history of that knife.”

  “What? How...? You have no right intruding into my affairs.”

  “It did not take much,” Dolfini added. “I was not even trying to read it. I only touched it, and I knew. So did Ansel.”

  Ashincor turned sharply to his acolyte. Ansel bowed his head.

  “It was not his fault, Patér Linse,” Dolfini resumed. “The psychic impressions on it are strong. As I suspect you know.”

  Ashincor sighed. Dolfini was right again, damn him. “That woman must pay,” the former Lord Linse said finally. “My daughter deserves her justice.”

  “Even if it has been given to you to avenge her murder, you cannot do it now. So, eat and get strong again, Patér Linse. Then you might save your grandson.”

  “Save my...?”

  “That is the Patér Rector’s message for you. Although Lilth Morays has returned to Crucidel, when you are ready again, you must go to Pablen.”

  “Why?”

  “The Patér Rector does not always give the reasons for his orders.”

  Ashincor grunted, knowing it was especially true for orders based on visions. Using visions to shape the future was complicated. The very act was one of manipulation, and Ashincor always had difficulty not taking it personally when it was him being moved. Still, what was anyone but a piece in a larger game?

  “I will leave you then,” Dolfini said, seeing Ashincor’s acceptance.

  Ashincor nodded. “Thank you, Patér Dolfini, for again saving my life. Perhaps we shall see each other at Pablen?”

  “Perhaps. But you should thank Ansel as well. Without him, you would have been lost. Go with our Creator, Patér Linse.”

  “Go with our Creator, Patér Dolfini.” At that Dolfini left.

  It was strange, but the other man’s departure made Ashincor less certain. Save for Ansel, he was on his own again. Yet had Ansel not proved his worth?

  “Master,” Ansel said, “I have more food coming.”

  Ashincor laughed. His young acolyte was truly gold.

  “Then keep it coming, Ansel. We have witches to battle.”

  - - -

  Jordan closed the door to his bedroom and leaned back against it. He did not understand women. Or maybe just this Agnetha girl. So she was on good terms with her brother, Dorian. He never stole her boyfriends, and she never borrowed his clothes without asking. Her endless crying over him however was becoming annoying, especially when he wanted a little attention after a hard day’s thwarting of Derrick. Just what did she want from him? And why could she not simply come out and ask him for it? Specifically, without forcing it into a guessing game?

  He was well-practiced in pretending to listen to women as he thought through a complicated scheme. He nodded at the right times, and made the appropriate sounds when necessary. He could not be failing there. Holding Agnetha as she cried was easy too, until his hands grew tired of staying in the same place, and began their inevitable exploration. But he kept that urge in check fairly well.

  Yet she still wanted something else. He knew he was never good at offering verbal comfort. The usual platitudes employed at such times were no more honest than the obligatory declarations that the deceased was a relatively good person. As good a liar as he was however, Jordan only said such nonsense as an insult to the person supposedly grieving. But he did not want to insult Agnetha, so he said nothing. But he did not want her to go on crying either. It was all quite vexing.

&
nbsp; Briefly he considered calling a doctor to pump her up with anti-depressants.

  “My Lord,” said a servant as he entered through the outer door to Jordan’s suite of rooms. Jordan lifted his head at the man wearily. “Anios Tenatte and Vaid Ketrick wish to speak with you.”

  “Tell them I am presently indisposed,” Jordan said, knowing they had already received Derrick’s crazy ultimatum, “but that we will speak soon.”

  “They say it is urgent, my Lord, and are waiting for you even now.”

  “Very well,” Jordan sighed. “Put them on the screen. Tenatte first.”

  “They are both here in person, my Lord, and demand an audience together.”

  Jordan’s face soured. “They do now?” He pondered a moment, deciding it was just as well to dispense with them at the same time. “Then show them to my sitting room. I will be there presently.”

  Jordan took his time freshening up to meet his guests. Being made to wait did not make Tenatte or Ketrick any happier.

  “We trust we can speak plainly, Lord Jordan,” Tenatte began, noticing the slight shimmer of Jordan’s personal shield.

  “That is why my guards are outside the doors,” Jordan replied. “This meeting is as private as it will get.”

  “That meets our requirements as well, Brother Jordan,” Ketrick added, reminding him of their former connection as DuCideons. “Now, about Lord Derrick’s recent missive—”

  “Of course, I was against it, you know,” said Jordan.

  “How reassuring,” replied Tenatte. “But we are curious, my Lord: How soon do you expect to be again in control of the government?”

  “Soon, I hope,” Jordan said, “but I cannot be sure.”

  “Will it take more than the nine months Lord Derrick has given us to leave the planet?” Ketrick asked.

  “That unfortunately would be impossible,” Jordan replied.

  “Then how do you plan to indemnify us when Lord Derrick is deposed?” Tenatte asked. Jordan shook his head with incomprehension. “Derrick intends to levy fines against us, and force the sale of our business interests at distressed prices. How will you compensate us?”

  “Your indemnification has not been among my considerations of late.”

  “Then consider this, Lord Jordan,” Tenatte declared: “We will hold you liable for any economic damage we suffer from Lord Derrick’s continued rule.”

  “Why should I accept responsibility? Attacking the NDB was your idea.”

  “We expect you to depose him quickly,” Ketrick chimed in. “How you do it is your problem. The longer you wait however, the costlier it will be for you.”

  “In case you have not noticed,” Jordan spat, “Derrick has a whole cadre of ‘Patérian Guards’ here. I cannot touch him.”

  “You’ll find a way, or pay for the privilege of waiting.”

  “And after that, then what happens?” Jordan asked. “Do we discuss the terms of your respective operations here on Legan?”

  “That will not be necessary,” Ketrick said smoothly, “since we have already reached an agreement between ourselves.”

  “You are setting your own terms with me now?”

  “It’s the price of repeatedly promising things to both of us that only one of us could have, Lord Jordan,” said Tenatte.

  “Regardless,” Jordan declared, “any proposals must still be reviewed.”

  “Review them all you wish,” Ketrick replied, “but as part of this accord, we want a settlement with the NDB Church over the DuCideon holdings.”

  “That would require—”

  “Yes, Bishop Wyren. You see, Brother Jordan, we are done letting you play us off one another. You have three days to arrange a meeting between us and Wyren, with yourself as mediator.”

  Jordan shrugged. “And if I do not grant your request?”

  Tenatte and Ketrick smiled together. “Then we will bring this war to you.”

  - - -

  Sitting in her balconied sunroom at Crucidel, Lilth Morays let the naked mime continue his routine, giving more attention to the draperies being blown about by the wind from the balcony’s open doors than to the man’s act, or even to the tray of food on a stand next to her. Since Curin’s death, she had started losing weight, along with her interest in her brother’s new plans. Derrick’s return had only hastened an already growing malaise. That he needed to die was, of course, still clear. The timeliness of the event however no longer seemed as urgent.

  Essentially, she was losing her edge.

  The mime entered the next segment of his musical show, taking great leaps into the air while striking poses before each descent. On a whim, Lilth began to psychically help him with his jumps. Surprised, the man nonetheless gallantly worked the augmented vaults into his act. Lilth quickened his leaps, so that he was no sooner landing from one than springing into another. By the time she stopped having him touch the floor altogether, and was just joggling him up and down, the man had gone limp. His last ascent took a sharp sideways direction as Lilth finally pitched him out over the balcony and through the open doors. True to the tradition of his art, the mime remained silent to the end.

  Psychically lifting herself in the air, Lilth made her way to another room. Through a set of doors and into a high expansive area, she saw the child Melvinor in the distance. He was followed by her furry, serpentine pet, Muffy. The sight elicited a baffled look. She would not have believed it had she only been told.

  Muffy was indeed following the child. He was not stalking the boy, or even sneaking up behind him. He was simply following the child, who in his hands carried toy figures and other items. They were going somewhere to play together.

  Lilth’s world was now truly upside down.

  Sighing, she turned to a side hallway, where she was soon met by a servant.

  “My Lady,” the young man said. He had a pretty face, though such was Lilth’s mood that her man-eating appetite was barely stirred. “There is a message coming in from the NDB Bishop Wyren.”

  “Why does he contact me?” she asked. Wyren was Jordan’s problem.

  “He says he has a proposal for you regarding Anios Tenatte. That there is an opportunity to see final justice brought at Pablen.”

  The Viscountess narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Had the NDB bishop guessed at Tenatte’s involvement with her son Curin, and thus the reason for her enmity toward the Consortium leader? Or was this more about his own revenge for the destruction of Carran? Lilth looked around to see where she was.

  “Secure our communication and send it through to that conference room,” she ordered, pointing down the hallway to the right. “I will be there presently.”

  The servant bowed and relayed her command through his com-link as Lilth floated forward and summoned her two remaining Dark Sisters. If the NDB bishop had anything interesting to say, she knew she would involve the other two witches anyway. Besides, they might also catch something in Wyren’s words or expression that she might miss, due to her depressed state. It was a terrible truth to admit, but a truth just the same.

  The first thing Lilth did upon entering the room was order food. She was already through the second tray when the two witches arrived. Turning toward the communication officer’s image on the room’s wallscreen, Lilth signaled for Wyren’s transmission to be displayed.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Morays,” Wyren said, showing no indication of whether he saw the two witches in the transmission he received in return.

  “Same to you, Bishop Wyren,” Lilth replied, granting him his religious title.

  “Your brother has offered to broker a peace settlement between the True Church, our DuCideon brothers and those still following Lord Ketrick, and the Consortium. Anios Tenatte and Lord Ketrick have already accepted their invitations, and will be at Pablen in person.”

  Lilth straightened in her chair. This was something Jordan had not told her. Clearly he thought that she was no longer watching him. “How soon?” she asked.

  “Two days, just befor
e the expiration of Lord Derrick’s offer for a peaceful expulsion for the DuCideons and the Consortium from the planet.”

  “How many of your NDB initiates will you be permitted to bring with you as guards, auxiliaries and administrative support?”

  The NDB Bishop smiled. “Enough to balance the Consortium contingent, certainly. The added presence of the initiates of the Miran Church however cannot be so easily countered. Not without help.” Only then did Wyren glance at the other two witches with Lilth.

  Now Lilth smiled. “You flatter us, Bishop,” she said. “Derrick has several dozen members of the Holy Orders at Pablen for his added security.”

  “You have no more special associates you could bring with you, Lady Lilth?”

  “But my brother is no longer regent, and such a group would be noticed.”

  “The Lord Chamberlain, HOPIS and the regular Palace Guard cannot find lodging for added guests? Or perhaps, supplementary serving staff?”

  “Perhaps. But what is it exactly that you wish to accomplish?”

  “Anios Tenatte and Vaid Ketrick must die, of course. They are responsible for this war anyway, and I personally do not care whose hand strikes them down. The Miran Minions however, might make keeping order challenging. Their psychic mayhem could incite chaos. Innocents could be hurt or killed. That is why I am asking for your help.”

  “A serious concern,” she replied. “Tell me though, has your vision given you something to evaluate our chances of success? I must admit that my vision has been a bit clouded lately, what with the recent losses to our family.”

  “Yes, my condolences, Lady Morays. It must be difficult. Though he is yet alive, through our estrangement, I too grieve over the loss of a son. It is nothing like yours, certainly, but my vision of the future has darkened as well. I hate to think what would happen to my ability to focus my vision if I truly lost him.”

  Lilth looked at one of the witches and received a nod. “He speaks the truth regarding his vision,” the witch projected. “He is as blind in this as we are.”

  Lilth nodded back. It was another truth she hated to admit, but she needed to know that she and her sisters were not the only ones sightless to future happenings at Pablen Palace. Given the presence of so many members of the Holy Orders at the Palace, with their collective psychic awareness fogging the events there, the blocking of their visions should not have come as a surprise. But the unknown was not something Lilth liked to contemplate, let alone confront.