by C A Ardron
PREDGARIANS: JACKAL’S GAMBIT
Copyright 2017 by C.A. Ardron
C.A. Ardron has asserted her rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or other-wise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance of the fictional characters to real persons is purely coincidental and non-intentional.
Cover designed by Graeme Parker from KGHH Design
Published in 2017 by KGHH Publishing
PREDGARIANS
JACKAL’S GAMBIT
by C. A. Ardron
DEDICATION
A special thank you to my very own Blue Dingo.
Without you, I would never have gotten this far.
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER BOOKS BY THE PUBLISHER
CHAPTER ONE
Jackal descended the slippery, stone steps with great reluctance. He'd liked to have put this moment off, but knew it would've been a mistake. His situation was dangerous, but with a bit of luck, he could stop it turning fatal on him.
He glanced furtively around the giant chamber he now found himself, attempting to brush aside what he knew was coming. He didn't want to dwell on how he could have done things differently, or about the plans he'd left half-finished. He forced a smirk to his lips thinking it was a shame he didn’t know for sure he was definitely on his way out. It would've been satisfying to have taken loans from his associates, knowing they would howl in frustration when realising he would never be able to repay them.
His pleasure lasted a mere second, and he focused on the damp, drip-drip sound echoing in the distance. Anything, even the musty smell of this dank cave, would be a relief from the stabbing fear he felt inside.
He stopped briefly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the smoky light given off by the large, fiery torches in their sconces along the rocky, jagged walls.
He glanced once at the single, dull blue shaft shooting down from a large crack in the rocks somewhere overhead but then ignored it, not wanting the light to interfere with his sight.
Jackal let out a long breath, watching it become visible in the cold air. He put one hand through his short mane of burnished-red hair before wincing. He'd momentarily forgotten about his injury. He looked down at his hand in the murk, seeing only dimly the fierce burn taking up most of his palm.
He strode briskly to a large pool near the centre of the huge cavern. The torches' light barely touched here, so as he sat on one of the rocks protruding from the ground near it, he did not immediately notice he wasn't alone.
Jackal's jawline tightened as he stared into the pool. As still as ever, and as deep, he resisted the impulse to rub his throbbing hand on his dark-blue denim jeans or biker's jacket, taking hold of the bright red medallion hanging at his chest instead.
Jackal was in a sombre mood as he gazed upon his namesake. The jackal's head etched into the large coin in his hand stared back. The image meant so much to so many people. Warrior, leader, evildoer, murderer, Sarpien. He let the medallion drop against his chest again. It was true enough that he was all of the above, but as he tried again to ignore the throbbing on his hand, he admitted that at that moment he didn't feel like any of those things.
His green eyes, hard and intense even when in thought, darted around the chamber as he heard the softest of rustles, and finally noticed the man watching him.
Jackal got to his feet as the man moved forwards. His wiry frame and midnight garments only seemed to highlight his sallow appearance and the old, long scar running through his left eye.
Jackal's eyes were drawn to the vibrant green snake mark that wound itself around the black-clad man's left arm, the spiked tail at the shoulder and the sleek head biting into the skin at the wrist. He noted that the snake's eyes were only glowing an ever so dull red.
Despite the chill of their surroundings, Jackal shrugged off his jacket, flinging it onto the rock behind him. His simple black, leather vest was not much protection from the cold, and he shivered slightly. He glanced down at his own snake mark, the eyes just as dim, before passing his fellow Sarpien, eying the various knives strapped to the man's thighs and boots. His short, black hair had a sawn off appearance, Jackal thought it likely one of the knives on display had been the instrument of choice.
‘What are you doing here, Mantis?’ He turned away to face a large, carved out fissure on the far side of the cavern. ‘I didn't send for you.’
Jackal tensed as he heard Mantis move behind him. He saw the taller man out the corner of his eye and did not relax when he realised the formidable fighter was toying with the green medallion that hung at his chest, the praying mantis clearly defined on the coin. Jackal always expected Mantis with a knife out, and never ruled out the possibility of an attack. Mantis wanted his position of authority, and for Sarpiens there was only one way for that to happen.
Jackal didn't have a problem with the rules; he'd taken advantage of others himself in the past in the same manner. He schooled his face to a dead calm – every Sarpien was out to kill him. Mantis was just a bit more enthusiastic about it than the others.
‘Every Sarpien is yours to command, General,’ Mantis drawled softly in his light, yet somehow sinister voice. ‘Why did you go alone?’
Jackal felt no real desire or obligation to answer the man's question, but Mantis' tone had been just shy of petulance, and it amused him. ‘I was buying, not killing. You or anyone else would've been no use to me, just deadweight slowing me down.’
‘Word is you came back alone.’
Jackal ground his teeth, hating the Insecta warrior's smug tone. He'd been hoping no one would notice – no such luck. He didn't reply though, because at that moment the eyes of both their snakes lit up.
The scarlet glow was intense, telling Jackal it was time. ‘You're dismissed.’ He, strode resolutely through the darkness to the gigantic maw. He was sure Mantis must be scowling at such an abrupt dismissal, but he didn't care. Right now, he had much larger problems than an over-eager assassin.
He again resisted the urge to rub his burnt hand on his jeans as he stopped just outside the large tunnel. The seconds dragged b
y, and Jackal lost track of how long he waited. He took a deep breath, readying himself for what was coming. There was a very real possibility he might not survive this.
‘Come,’ the whispery, hissing voice spoke. It reverberated in Jackal's mind, making him swallow, his nervousness and fear finally coming to the forefront.
He stepped into the complete blackness of the tunnel. The only light came from the glowing eyes of his snake. They cast a red glow on the rock-strewn floor and walls nearby, growing brighter the further inside he went.
In the dim, bloody light he saw the movement of a heavy, green-scaled tail, a bone spike decorating its tip. Jackal bowed down on one knee, his eyes very carefully examining a floor he could barely see.
After what seemed an age, the only sound the giant creature's hissing and breathing, Jackal felt the immense mind brush his, seeking out the information he wanted.
There was a great snarl of anger, and the snake on Jackal's arm tightened. The eyes glowed before settling into a deep, hard red. Jackal winced as he felt its fangs pierce the flesh. His blood trickled down onto his hand, and he gasped at the sudden tightening around his shoulders and chest. Collapsing onto his side, he struggled despite the knowledge that it was futile, trying to draw breath.
As he found his arms locked to his sides, unable to move, the pressure across his chest increased. It felt like he was in a vice, that he would be crushed into nothing at any second. He couldn't think, his head was pounding and dizzy, needing oxygen.
The pressure was released quite suddenly, and Jackal gasped for breath, his hands clutching at the floor convulsively. Ever so slowly he regained his feet, his chest and ribs feeling bruised. He rose and bowed down before his master once more.
‘Jackal,’ the creature hissed through the darkness.
‘Yes, Lord Trine,’ he gasped painfully.
‘Who am I?’
‘You are my Master, great Trine. I live to serve you, and you alone.’
‘Can you not bring me one boy?’
Jackal didn't reply. The great reptile had seen his memory of what had happened; there was no excuse he could give. ‘Forgive me, it won't happen again.’
‘Bring him to me.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ Jackal's breathing sounded raspy in the echoing tunnel. He couldn't quite believe he was being given a second chance.
‘Remember, Jackal, Sarpiens do not fall, Sarpiens do not bleed.’
Jackal stood and bowed deeply before Trine and then hurriedly left to obey his master's command.
CHAPTER TWO
Karen Fireirro stared out the window of the small cafe where she'd decided to eat after her shift finished. She picked up the tiny carton of milk on the table with more force than necessary and peeled off the lid, trying to ignore all the looks directed at her. Surely here in Steiron, the second largest city on this damned continent, the city folk should've been used to foreigners.
She tipped the contents of the small carton into her dark tea aggressively, watching the two substances merge together. The bell on top of the cafe's door rang as yet another person entered. Karen looked up briefly. As expected the man was pale-skinned with sunny, blond hair. The south of the continent known as Sieffith was their native land, which meant if she really didn't want to stand out in the crowd, she'd have to travel very far north.
The newcomer, looking quite wet from the rain, made a point of watching her as he ordered his food. Karen lifted her mug and took a long drink, glaring back with her serious, dark-brown eyes. She held the man's gaze determinedly until he looked away, embarrassed.
After paying the cashier, the man, dressed in his expensive grey suit, scurried to the back of the shop to get away from her. Karen smirked; that reaction was getting to be a common one around here.
The serving lady at the counter came up to her, not at a hurried pace, but Karen noticed immediately that she carried herself with purpose. Karen identified the relevant details of the woman out of habit. She was fairly tall with ash-blonde curls, probably mid-forties, walked like her feet hurt from blisters or calluses. The eyes were distant, bored with the job. The conclusion: not a threat.
‘On the house,’ the woman said, placing a second, steaming metal teapot on the round table. Her voice was surprisingly warm, friendly even.
Karen looked up at her in surprise. ‘Thank you.’
‘Could I ask that you stop staring at the other customers, please?’
Ah, a bribe. ‘Perhaps,’ Karen gave her a small smile, ‘if they stop staring at me.’
Surprisingly, the lady laughed with good humour. ‘We don't see many Unicians around these parts,’ she made no pretence as she scrutinised Karen's light, yellow-tinted skin, stick-straight, jet-black hair just touching her shoulders, and narrow features and eyes.
‘Have you been in town long? I haven't seen you before.’
Great, Karen thought, becoming irritable again, she wants to talk. ‘A matter of weeks.’ She went back to her tea, hoping the woman would take the hint.
‘How nice. It must be quite different to Unicia up in the north, but you don't have the accent. Actually, you don't seem to have an accent of any kind.’
‘I travel a lot,’ Karen responded in a dead voice.
The lady finally got the picture and left Karen alone with her tea. Any glimmer of good humour she had gained evaporated. The conversation, brief though it may have been, had only highlighted her problems, the things she was trying her hardest not to think about.
Unconsciously, she adjusted her brown, leather gloves. She'd not bothered to remove them; she never did. She pulled on the left wrist and picked her mug up once more.
It always ended like this; she just didn't know how to operate around other people. Small talk about accents, the weather, jobs – it seemed pointless to her. She normally got by on small, temporary jobs in warehouses or factories but Steiron wasn't hiring it seemed.
Karen considered herself lucky to have found an opening as an assistant in a children's care home. She'd been there for perhaps eleven days. Karen sighed softly to herself positive she was about to get fired.
How could she possibly handle a child's tantrum about not having the same meal as someone else when every time she closed her eyes she could see blood on grass and littered corpses.
Karen placed her tea mug back on the table, rubbing her forehead with one gloved hand. What was she doing? There was no way she could survive in such an interactive environment. Someone like her had no business being around kids in the first place. She was a nightmare, a complete mess.
Karen knew she should just quit, for everyone's sake, and find something else. It had been a mistake coming to Steiron. She'd been to so many places now, but Steiron had been appealing. It was huge, after all, split into five individual towns called the Sectors, all linked by a huge highway.
She'd opted for the West Sector when finding a place to stay. It was a good middle ground of residential and retail, fairly cheap to rent too.
Karen pulled absently on the left wrist of her glove again as she looked out the window at the grey haze of drizzle. The two suns of Courin had already set and it was very dark.
Finding her mug empty she poured some more from the second teapot the cashier had left. A small smile lessened the deathly serious expression on her face. Tea always made her feel better. Placing the teapot down, she added some more milk from an extra carton lying on the table.
Noticing some excess liquid had made its way to her gloves, she rubbed them against her blue jeans before adjusting her matching denim jacket.
Finally picking up her mug again and lifting it to her lips, she froze.
After a few seconds she remembered to breathe, but her muscles remained rigid even as the mug in her hand lowered back towards the table. Every muscle in her body was tense, but she did nothing to try and relieve the tension, nor hide the horrified expression covering her face.
Outside in the drizzly murk, the street was lit by the golden glow of the street lam
ps. On the other side of the street there was a figure walking by at a steady, precise pace. He had an arrogant sway to his shoulders. His ever-present leather jacket was nothing special, but made him stand out to Karen.
She would know that hard face and mullet of scarlet hair anywhere. That face might imply just a man perhaps mid-twenties to anyone else, but Karen knew better. He was much more than just a man.
‘Jackal,’ she muttered under her breath. She remained where she was a mere two seconds, but within those two seconds her thoughts had raced and come to a decision.
Jackal hadn't seen her. She could run for it, leave the city before dawn even arrived, but there was always the possibility that he'd already tracked her down and his appearance at this time was nothing more than a ploy to panic her.
Karen stood and left the cafe without a backwards glance, entering into the rain on the street. She pulled her jacket closer to her, covering her plain, black leather vest a little.
Jackal was much further up the street, but still in sight. Karen stayed on her side of the road, keeping to the shadows as she followed him. She needed to know what he was doing and why. She couldn't afford to leave only to find herself running into him as she tried to get back to her flat.
The rain started to get heavier again, and Karen had to squint to see Jackal in the distance. He'd stopped to speak to some people. There was no way anything the three men were saying was going to reach her ears in this rain, but Karen daren't go any closer, fearing that Jackal would spot her.
A lot could be discerned from appearances though. The two men were burly and wore garments which seemed very ordinary, though in this light she couldn't make out much in the way of colour or style, just trousers and shirts underneath water-proof coats. People who'd been expecting to be out in the rain.
The way these men held themselves greatly differed from Jackal, however. They didn't seem to have his ever-present wariness, expecting a surprise attack at any minute. She didn't think these two were Sarpiens; they looked like they were trying to act tougher than they were. This information was not exactly helpful, even if Jackal had been alone the odds wouldn't have been any better.
