Blood of Jackals

by Todd Marcelas Moreno

  One of Derrick’s remaining guards complied, rushing to a control terminal and bringing up the room’s internal shields. Opening his awareness to locate the advancing witches, Dolfini detected the telltale “holes” in his psychic vision showing a dozen or so Dark Witches advancing from the way they came, and another dozen or so heading in from the direction they had intended to flee. They were trapped. “I am sorry, my Lord,” Dolfini said as he turned to Derrick. “Any reinforcements being sent will not arrive in time.”

  Derrick nodded, buttoning his uniform and pushing back a stray lock of hair. He would at least face his end with dignity. The high-pitched sounds of lasfire striking the room’s shields from opposite ends echoed around them. It would not be long before the shields were overcome.

  “My Lord,” called a voice from behind him.

  Derrick turned, catching a face peering out from an unused decorative fireplace. “Madam Curreck!” he cried, recognizing Pablen’s housekeeper.

  “We’re using the servant passages, my Lord. Call us The Palace Mice Brigade. We have Chancellor Sukain. She’s down in the servants’ quarters.”

  Derrick turned to the man protecting him since the attacks began. “Patér?”

  “One moment, my Lord,” Dolfini replied, scanning Curreck. Wherever the woman had learned to cloak her presence, she was better at it than either of Derrick’s remaining two guards. If they left now, they just might slip past the witches’ notice. “Go, my Lord,” the patér replied. “I will remain here. The enemy cannot be allowed to pursue you down the hidden corridors.”

  “But Patér—” Derrick began.

  “Take him quickly,” Dolfini told Curreck. “Put as much distance as you can between you and this room, even if it means going out of your way.” Curreck nodded as Dolfini ushered Derrick and the two guards to the servants’ secret door.

  “Patér Dolfini,” Derrick said again, stopping before the doorway.

  “My Lord, you must flee.”

  “You can come with us.”

  Dolfini shook his head. “You should know though, my Lord, that I have sensed your grandfather. He is here in the Palace, no doubt looking for you.”

  “What?”

  “I do not know who is left from our Order, but you would be safer with him than with any other.” Derrick was dumbstruck. “Hurry, my Lord,” Dolfini urged, pushing him through the door. “You have to be away for me to do what I must.”

  Not waiting for Derrick’s response, Dolfini closed the door behind him and turned back to the room. The lasfire against the room’s shields changed pitch. The enemy was close. Summoning his psychic energies, Dolfini became a beacon of power as he shot out the room’s only window with electrical fire. The Palace’s external shields stopped the debris from blasting far, but he could see that there was enough space between the wall and the shield for a man to pass through.

  The first of the room’s internal shields collapsed as lasfire burned holes through the door and walls. The door and a large section of the wall were then blown toward him in an explosion that buckled the room’s remaining shields. Safe within his own shields, Dolfini watched as a handful of men dressed as Palace Guards came through, followed by Dark Witches. All but one of the witches entered from along the edges of the opening the blast had created, walking vertically onto the remaining wall on either side, and even straight up onto the ceiling, their eyes fixed on him, even as their heads turned at unnatural angles.

  The lead witch walked straight toward him, signaling those who now entered from the other end of the room behind him to take positions out of her line of fire.

  “Your awareness burns bright enough for two, Patér,” the witch said silkily. “Might Lord Derrick be hiding under your robe?” The other witches laughed, though no humor touched their ever-staring eyes. Dolfini suppressed a shudder.

  “Lord Legan is not here, Dark Servant,” he replied, sparing a fast glance at the broken window. “You and your corrupted minions are too late.”

  The witch laughed. “Oh, we have come too far to turn from our prey now. We will have him, and bring him before our Mistress.”

  “I will stop you,” Dolfini said solemnly.

  “Against me you would be but a diversion, Priest,” the witch boasted. “But against us all...” The witches moved in closer, strengthening their mental shields.

  It was as Dolfini intended. Sending his awareness up the chain of dimensions beyond the witches’ perception, where each spark of awareness was separated by the thinnest of distances so that all seemed to touch, Dolfini released the full power within him in one controlled psychic burst.

  A halo appeared over Dolfini’s head, followed by halos over the witches, and even the betrayers within the Palace Guard. None of Dolfini’s would-be attackers knew what he had done, nor would they, as everyone fell dead, including Dolfini.

  -

  “No!” Lilth cried, her psychic fire flaring out as the deaths of so many of her sisters roared in her awareness. The other witches in the room felt it too.

  “What happened, Mistress?” one of them asked.

  Lilth shot fire from her fingers with renewed vigor, no longer toying with the soldiers standing in her way. “Our sisters cornering the Linse Usurper have been killed,” she said. “Hurry. Take those who remain, find out who or what did this, and deal with it. I will join you after I finish clearing this room. Go. Now.”

  Having no choice, the witches obeyed. Directing her fire to make a path for them through the soldiers, Lilth watched as her sisters retreated. Once alone, she smiled, calling on a new trick she had learned from her old teacher, Hestori, before the blackhearted harpy had died.

  - - -

  Opening a hidden door to one of Pablen’s conference rooms, two Palace servants saw the heavy fighting inside. People were being tossed about the room between bursts of lasfire and that Witch’s Fire seen elsewhere, as furniture was broken and the room all but torn apart. Even with the shimmering of personal shields, however, they could tell that there were no witches involved. The problem was that they could not tell who exactly battled whom.

  “My guess it’s the NDBs,” one said. “I heard they were coming to some peace summit hosted by Lord Jordan.”

  “The NDB have their own way of doing things, that’s for sure,” said the other, a cook by her uniform. “But I’m a good Miran, I am.”

  “Me too. But if one side is NDB, the other must be the Consortium.”

  “So, you mean, they’re both bad guys?”

  “Strictly speaking.”

  “Let’s let them sort it out themselves then,” the cook concluded.

  “Sounds good.”

  And with that they stepped back and resealed the hidden door.

  - - -

  Safe underground in the sublevels of the Palace, Jordan watched battle images on his portascreen. Lilth and Bishop Wyren’s forces were taking longer than expected to kill Derrick. That meant the Palace siege was lasting longer than expected, with the pounding of its shields, sometimes audible even to him, causing more and more damage. As far as the building was concerned, soon it would not matter if the external shields held until the fighting was over.

  “Chamberlain Hansodian,” Jordan called behind him, switching his screen to show images from inside the Palace.

  “My Lord?” The man had also sought refuge in the bowels of the Palace.

  “Is there a way to cut the external and internal shields above ground, and divert power to the subterranean shields directly over us?”

  The Chamberlain gasped, glancing at Agnetha Tousan. Turning, Jordan saw her looking through clear containers full of objects brought down from the upper levels, including a collection of ancient blades. To him, those were worth saving.

  “Let us walk this way,” Jordan suggested, passing one of his few trusted personal guards through an open passageway to another room.

  “My Lord,” the man resumed, once they were alone. “Lowering the external shields would let the attac
kers outside destroy the Palace.”

  “Yes,” said Jordan, as if the man were an idiot. “But given the amount of damage already done, it may now be cheaper to rebuild the place than to restore it. Besides, Pablen is too sprawling for my taste. It needs to be redesigned.”

  “But what about the people up there, my Lord?” the Chamberlain asked. “They could be killed. Including your sister, Lady Morays.”

  “Legan can have only one ruler,” Jordan replied. “And we both know that that cannot happen with my sister constantly looking over my shoulder.”

  “And the others, my Lord?” the man asked, glad to have already seen to the safety of his own family.

  Jordan shrugged. “War is full of tragedy.” The Chamberlain nodded.

  “There is an access terminal down here, my Lord, near the power generators.” The man wet his lips. “Assuming the security protocols have not been reset, I would just need your personal security codes to accomplish what you ask.”

  Jordan gave the Chamberlain a twisted smile. As if he would trust the man with his personal codes. “Agnetha, Dearest,” he called.

  Standing over Jordan’s portascreen in the other room, Agnetha jumped at the sound of her name. “Yes?” she replied, hastily closing the files she was reading.

  “The Lord Chamberlain and I will be back. Do you need anything?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  Jordan smiled and nodded for the Chamberlain to lead the way.

  Agnetha waited until the footfalls of Jordan and his lackey were gone before returning to Jordan’s portascreen. With him having already looked at files that had required his passcode, she could not have asked for better access.

  Files concerning Seonas Possór revealed nothing of note, beyond a legal analysis of his claim to the throne. It was the same for Varian and Guishaun, until she found a file entitled “Examiner’s Report.” She skimmed the directory and found an audio-visual file entitled “Poisoning.” Having turned down the sound, Agnetha activated the device’s remote earpiece and watched surveillance images while listening to an investigator describe the final moments of Varian Possór.

  So Guishaun was involved. But what about her brother?

  She altered her search. Most of these files related to Dorian’s relationship with Guishaun. Agnetha switched directories and reran the search to include Lord Jordan’s private files. There she found one entitled “Confession.” Opening it, her eyes widened as she saw and heard her brother being tortured, with Lord Jordan standing next to him as one of his tormentors.

  - - -

  Vaid Ketrick walked down another empty corridor, ready to shoot anything that moved. Not wanting to draw the notice of any witches, he had to search for Biam without any psychic aids. But he knew Biam was close. So much so, that even though a safer strategy would be to find a hidden place to wait out the attacks, finding an ideal spot would likely mean finding Biam. Surely he was unlikely to encounter any of those witches skulking in the shadows somewhere.

  A new explosion rumbled the Palace; only this one sounded different, and was followed by a second that ripped through a lounge area to his right. As chunks from the ceiling and rooms above were scattered by the heavy lasblast, Ketrick heard a blithering man cry out for divine aid. Now that the high-powered lasfire had penetrated the Palace itself, Ketrick was as safe in one place as in any other, and so he sought the source of the cry as he activated his shield. Let the witches detect its protective field, he thought. They had other concerns, now that the attackers outside had switched from cutting lasfire to detonating missile fire.

  -

  “What the hell was that?” Steuben demanded over his com-link, having noted a disturbing difference in the last two attacks on the Palace. These had penetrated the building. “What happened to the Palace’s shields?”

  “They’re down, General,” came the reply. “Along with our missile defenses. Government units outside are adjusting their own defenses as we fix the problems, but there is still heavy fighting out there.”

  “Bring in all aircraft not already engaged,” Steuben ordered. “Alert the fleet over Pablen’s position: They are to prepare to commence orbital bombardment.”

  “General?”

  Steuben knew what the officer was thinking. Such a move would put their forces on the ground at risk, along with any civilians too close to the fighting. “Do it. And have the fleet commanders coordinate with Air and Field Commands. I don’t want them accidentally blasting our own people below.”

  “Yes, Sir. And Sir, I have reports of new fighting at several military facilities around the planet, along with renewed fighting at sites previously under fire.”

  “The bastards want our units pinned to prevent their reinforcing us,” Steuben breathed. “What is the update on Lord Legan?”

  “We still haven’t found him, Sir.”

  “Send me his last confirmed position,” Steuben ordered. He would find Derrick himself. “Now what about those damned witches?”

  “They have already moved to Lord Legan’s last known location, Sir.”

  “Terrific—”

  Another blast of heavy lasfire cut through the Palace, ending any thought of Steuben activating his personal shield. Even if his shield could withstand such firepower without overloading, a direct blast would melt him alive inside of it anyway. Despite the flying debris, until the attackers started with missile fire, he was better off without shielding. Not only would he have added mobility, if he did come across any witches, he might just surprise them.

  “Carry out your orders,” Steuben instructed the officer as he stood from his crouch and began to move. “And be ready to evacuate Lord Legan at my signal.”

  -

  Ketrick found an unarmed Biam hiding in a corner behind a protruding wall column, whispering a repeated prayer as he fumbled with his shieldbelt. The mechanism appeared to have shorted. Either that or, in his panic, Biam had forgotten how to turn it on.

  “I had no idea that you had taken those NDB theological fantasies to heart, Allenford.” Ketrick raised his weapon as he powered down his shield so that he could fire freely. “I thought your conversion was just a political move.”

  “Lord Ketrick!” Biam cried, looking about frantically. “What are you doing? The rebels are destroying the Palace as the witches are killing everyone!”

  “I am saving us all from much pain, Allenford,” he replied, taking aim. “You, from living out your remaining days as a disgraced and bitter ex-politician...”

  “Are you insane?” Biam gasped, turning away as he feebly raised his arms to ward off what was to come. “Psychopaths! All of you!”

  “And the rest of us,” Ketrick continued, “from suffering the publication of your self-serving memoirs.” Ketrick fired short bursts at the former advisor, and usurping DuCideon grandmaster. But even with Allenford Biam dead, Ketrick continued to mutilate his body. There would be no open casket for his funeral.

  Suddenly lasfire shot Ketrick’s weapon from his grip as it severed several fingers from his hand. Screaming in agony, Ketrick turned to see Steuben targeting him with a lasrifle. The Colonel’s aim was unwavering.

  “Can you stop the attacks against the Palace?” Steuben asked.

  Ketrick straightened and faced Steuben with steeled eyes filled with hate. “No,” Lord Ketrick declared, raising his chin. “Not until your little lord is dead.”

  “Then I have no further use for you,” Steuben replied, letting his rifle go full-auto as he pulled the trigger all the way back.

  - - -

  Alone in his office overlooking his nightclub’s main floor, Anios Tenatte watched the battle over Pablen Palace on a wall-screen with fading interest. Ketrick of course had abandoned them during the pre-siege attacks around the planet, a betrayal for which he had planned. Since the renegade DuCideon units were to have supported the rebels in those attacks, if any rebels survived the ultimate lifting of Pablen’s siege, Tenatte wagered their last service to him would be revenge on
Ketrick’s organization. Then he would be done with them both.

  That still left the NDB, but after all the destruction, their DuCideon Brotherhood would be in no position to resume their former operations until it was too late. Tenatte smiled as he imagined the NDB wishing they had never entered the insurance racket. The Consortium-backed claims alone from this war were going to be staggering. Pity the business arm of the NDB Church never told the military arm that they were destroying the property of their own insured.

  Isn’t bureaucracy wonderful, he thought. Not that anyone running an insurance company deserved to be free from being hammered periodically.

  Which left the issue of Derrick and Jordan. Yes, some reports blamed the Palace attack on the Consortium, but its presence was minimal. With the rebels conducting the operation, it was the NDB who were exposed. Besides, every man had his own conscience. How could the leaders of a large organization know what their members might do on their own? And as for any alleged financial backing, the charities to which the Consortium had contributed had all seemed legitimate, with no suspected connections to the rebels at all. Well, some things may have been odd, but the rebels had sworn to disavow violence as a means for political change. Why, even charities under the Holy Miran Church had shared interests in some of the rebel’s pet causes.

  Given this, and the weakening of House Possór’s military by the ongoing attacks, with its consequential impact on its already constrained budgets, it did not matter who came out of Pablen alive. Even if he survived, Derrick could not expel them. The Consortium operations were currently one of the few bright spots in Legan’s economy. Derrick would be a fool to remove that support to his planet’s financial structure.

  “Hey Boss,” one of Tenatte’s underlings called over a viewscreen.

  “Yes?” Tenatte replied.

  “The girls are asking when auditions for ‘Featured Performer’ will start.”

  Tenatte laughed. “Start sending them up,” he ordered.

  - - -

  Wyren looked at Valmont and his remaining guard as the men circled around him. The NDB Bishop was surprised that Tenatte had sent such competent escorts with his son, though this last man was exhausted from the prolonged fight, and at the end of his usefulness.