-
As Lilth reached the end of the stairs, she saw movement in the corner of her vision. Small birds had flown in through the broken walls, with more coming down from the missing ceiling and up from open cracks in the floor. Feeding on the fallen jackals, they congregated by type, defending their territorial harvest from competing groups. Some began to grow larger, and strong enough to push other birds aside. Seeing one bird peck viciously at a dead jackal, Lilth lifted her finger and shot a psychic bolt that reduced the offending bird to ash and feathers. The other birds however took no notice. Lilth let fly more streams of blue fire, but still the remaining birds continued to gorge themselves. That triggered the viscountess of Voxny to her full fury.
-
The first discharge of power struck an empty wall, blackening its stone surface. The sharp whistling sound was something Melvinor and the snake had heard before. Melvinor froze in alarm, but as the blast was not directed near them, the snake continued strengthening its electrical charge. The following bolts however were aimed in different directions, some finally hitting furniture and other items close to the floor. With a howl of vengeance, Lilth Morays began to ravage the entire room. The snake was already upon him when Melvinor briefly took his eyes from Lilth, seeing her pet almost double its normal size as all its fur stood out on end. But the serpent’s attention turned to Lilth as well, and both watched in stunned fascination as she wrought destruction in her own palace. Soon the unseen objects of her ire seemed to rise, as she proceeded to pepper the ceiling and upper walls with random shots in every direction.
-
Finally the scavenging birds were gone. Finally they had learned the price of attempting to profit from the fall of the Possórs. But Lilth knew that they would be back, and that she would not be there to guard against them forever.
How could this have happened? she wondered. She had foreseen threats to House Possór before, of course. Those that were not neutralized had at least been mitigated. Even the trial of her cousin Seffan, Legan’s former grandee, could have brought worse consequences than what materialized. The fortunes of his house may well have joined him in death. Yet that possibility had never seemed strong to her, her greater concern being her cousin’s fate. And in that regard, her psychic vision had failed her. She had been unable to save Seffan and, as it turned out, she had little to do with saving House Possór. But this time was different.
She could sense it. This time her action would directly determine whether the future took a path of ruin for House Possór or...what? Lilth tried to coax her vision, willing it to show her both how she might prevent disaster from unfolding, and what alternate future might be won.
In her vision, Lilth saw a baby jackal sleeping on a red couch. A smile of hope came to her face as she realized that even in devastation, part of House Possór would survive. She could work with that, and rebuild. But as she approached, the animal woke and shied away.
What is this? she asked, her ever-present suspicion blooming.
The jackal was about to flee when Lilth grabbed it with her psychic power and held it fast. The reason for its fear came to her: It had betrayed House Possór and, by its treason, had brought them all down. But who was this traitorous creature? Vialette had betrayed them, to ends not yet fully realized. But the future of Lilth’s vision was one that she could yet change, and Vialette’s actions were in the past. That meant someone else was to blame. Lilth lifted her right hand to point at the jackal. Whoever it was, she would destroy the traitor. She would squeeze out its very life.
The animal was shaking now, and Lilth found something familiar in its eyes. Who was it? Uncertainty filled her inside like leaded dread. Her outstretched finger faltered. She knew she should kill this creature, but something was stopping her. Was it mercy? Or was she losing her nerve?
The Viscountess snarled and extended her finger again.
“No!” cried a voice in her head.
The vision faded.
Her finger touching the nose of her favorite pet, Lilth snatched her hand back at the sharp static discharge as her befurred snake rolled its eyes and collapsed into the arms of Melvinor. Once more on the ground, Lilth shook out the pain in her finger and looked about. Though structurally intact, the room showed signs of being scorched and burned. Guards were at every door, but none had entered. Two of them stopped their waiting and came forward as a pair of Dark Witches entered through one of the doors.
“We sensed a disturbance,” one of them said carefully.
“I have had a vision,” Lilth replied. The two acknowledged her with a slight bow. “I have seen the fall of House Possór.”
“You are coming to a nexus point in the path of Time,” the second witch said, her eyes closed. “You will decide House Possór’s fate.”
“There is a traitor,” Lilth added.
“Yes,” the witch went on, opening her eyes. “But I cannot see a face.”
“We have seen something else,” the first witch explained. “The boy-lord, Derrick. If he returns, your own throne will topple.”
“He will die before ever touching the crown,” said Lilth, annoyed that they would consider her defeat even possible.
“The nexus,” the other witch reminded her. “You will have only one chance to end this threat to House Possór.”
“What else can you tell me of this nexus?” Lilth breathed.
“Killing the lordling will not be easily accomplished.”
“Who still stands to protect Derrick?”
“We do not know,” came the reply.
Lilth’s pet began to stir and lifted itself from across the pinned Melvinor’s lap. Catching the movement, and looking at the snake with loathing, one of the witches created a psychic barrier that effectively caged it with the boy. The snake butted its head against it a few times, only to draw the glare of the second witch. If Lilth noticed the indignity being imposed on one of her favorites, whose fur now stood out on end in angry warning, she gave no sign of it.
“Find out more about this nexus,” Lilth finally ordered.
“And the search for your royal cousiné?”
“Forget him for now. If this vision is true, I will confront him soon enough.”
“One more thing,” one of the witches said, stopping Lilth. “Your nephew-cousins: one is dead, the other has been treated for poison.”
“When did this happen?” Lilth breathed.
“Less than an hour past. The servants are being questioned as we speak.”
Keeping her inner thoughts to herself, Lilth headed back up the stairs to her private rooms without another word. Bowing to their mistress’ back, the two witches also left, letting the psychic barrier trapping the two play-companions slowly dissolve. Lilth’s pet hissed but remained otherwise motionless, his eyes fixed on the departing witches.
“They are mean,” Melvinor whispered, almost to himself.
With narrowed eyes, the snake looked sidewise at the boy, and nodded.
- - -
Valmont had already initiated the escapecraft’s firing sequence when someone began waving him to stop. He ignored the man. Someone from Church Security would have drawn a weapon. This man was a simple temple worker. As the craft moved, it occurred to Valmont that the man could be trying to warn him of danger, but there was nothing for it now. Whatever precious time his mother could buy him from his father’s pursuit, he had to make use of it.
Wall panel lights shot past as he traversed the narrow, magnetically buffeted escape tunnel, the missile-like craft’s automated navigational system in full control. Once out in the open, the craft’s computer would verify the position of enemy combatants and flee toward the planetary capital. Valmont would take manual control before then, but it was comforting to him that his safety was not wholly dependent on him or on the ship’s programming.
As the small single-person craft cleared its close-cut chamber through the mountain rock, Valmont could see smoke rising over the fiery city of Carran, along with inter
mittent explosions from isolated battles. He was about to try to identify the buildings with their protective shields still in place when lasfire blasted past him along the right side of the craft.
With its own shields deflecting the repeated fire, the craft’s computer searched for a new escape route. Valmont had barely wondered if the Temple’s escape vehicles had been betrayed to their enemy when a rear blast collapsed a section of the craft’s shield. Immediately the craft altered course as a mechanized voice matched the words that appeared on the screen before him: “Secondary escape procedure initiated. You have five seconds to switch to manual override.”
“What the hell procedure is that?” Valmont cried.
The craft’s canopy jettisoned in answer, followed by his expulsion. He heard rather than saw the escapecraft explode, not sure whether its destruction came from enemy fire, or collision with the trees below. The latter was of increasing concern as his descent toward their dense branches quickened. While offering him a controlled landing, the navigation system of his suspensor-field generator jet pack could not account for every movement. Switching to manual control, Valmont steered clear of one impending tree as the blast of enemy fire resumed.
- - -
“Move in,” Sukain ordered, eying the viewscreens of the Operations Room in Pablen Palace, each showing different images of the city of Carran. The time had finally come to send in troops.
While the move to quell the fighting between the Consortium and NDB Church there and elsewhere on the planet might buy her time, she knew that once the vote was taken in Parliament on Jordan Possór’s appointment as regent, she would be done. The key now was to keep the debate going by giving her Parliamentary allies new points of discussion. All to delay Jordan from taking control of the government, on the theory that if Derrick were still alive, any chance he had for survival would depend on Jordan being unable to extinguish it.
Resistance to the government forces was swift. Formerly peaceful areas of the city were now ablaze. Looking at the corresponding map of the scenes being shown, Sukain was surprised that the attackers were so entrenched, particularly around NDB buildings with functional shields.
“A message is coming in from Bishop Wyren, First Advisor,” one of the officers reported. “He requests that we cease fire in certain specified areas and withdraw. He also suggests alternate points of concentration to help in the effort to expel the Consortium.”
Sukain scoffed. “Inform Bishop Wyren that we are not entering this conflict on either side. We are there to establish order.”
“But First Advisor—”
“So long as both sides continue to fight, we will consider both to be enemy combatants.” Sukain watched the officer reluctantly nod before complying. Normally she would have marked the man for possible replacement, but with her own end at hand, she saw little point in it.
“Damn Jordan Possór,” Sukain muttered, the Parliamentary vote again disrupting her thoughts. He had been clever to have his well-bribed cronies move for his appointment while Guishaun was reportedly still recovering from the poison that had killed his brother.
First the father, then the son. How galling that Jordan killed his rivals so easily. If it would not mean Guishaun’s death as well, she would go to Parliament now and propose him as regent. Guishaun clearly wanted it. Having heard of Parliament’s pending vote, he was insisting that he was fully recovered. Given the danger in challenging Jordan directly however, the play would be a foolish one, and Sukain wanted no part of it. Having brought forward Seonas Possór’s sons as contenders for the throne, she felt responsible enough for Varian’s death.
“First Advisor, Bishop Wyren again requests our withdrawal from certain sacred sites. He says entrance by government troops into consecrated buildings would be a defilement of—”
Sukain turned to the officer again. “Tell Bishop Wyren—”
“First Advisor,” another officer interrupted, “Parliament has made Lord Jordan regent.”
Sukain took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was over. The fate of her rightful sovereign was now wholly out of her control. As if on cue, uniformed HOPIS agents entered the room from various doors at once. All were heavily armed. Sukain opened her eyes to watch one of them come up to her and stand inches from her face. It was the first insult of her defeat.
“Carol Jeanne Sukain,” the man said with open satisfaction, “by order of the Lord Regent of Legan, His Lordship Jordan Possór, I hereby place you under arrest for High Treason.”
- - -
Derrick cried out at the electric shock, trying not to struggle against the straps binding him to the exam-chair. “I cannot do it!” Perspiration from his forehead stung his eyes. Yeskin had been trying to take measurements of Derrick’s psychic ability for hours.
“Try harder,” Yeskin replied, holding his note-screen like a shield. “You have the ability. Alfren wouldn’t lie to me.”
“The mental bar,” Derrick breathed.
“All my tests show that you’re otherwise healthy,” Yeskin replied. “And what you did to Alfren you still did with this bar over your memory. You should have no problem now.”
“I do not know how I did that. I had no control over it.”
“Look at me,” Yeskin commanded. Derrick did not open his eyes. “Look at me!” Yeskin augmented his order with an electric shock.
Derrick complied.
“My work is important. You know that, right? Alfren says you’re stronger than any he’s seen. I can’t let a chance like this go by.” He threw himself into a chair, hugging his note screen close. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.
“So why the electric shocks?”
“You think I want to do it?” Yeskin whined. “You force me to.”
“I am the one tied to a chair. I cannot force you to do anything.”
“Yes, you can. And you do. When a subject refuses to cooperate in an experiment, it can be necessary to provide aggressive encouragement.”
“Is that what your father said?”
“My father was a great man—important, like his work. I won’t let anyone interfere with it. I didn’t let her. I won’t let you either.”
“Her?”
“So work with me—or I’ll remove that bar, even if it kills you.”
“No! Wait.” With a lift of his chin, Yeskin crossed his arms over his chest. “Look,” Derrick began, “you have all these restrictions on me, so I can do some things, but not others.”
“My experiments are all controlled,” Yeskin explained. “I can’t accurately measure your abilities if other inputs cloud the results.”
“What if my mind is working around the bar using alternate pathways? You may be blocking the very ability you want me to use.”
Yeskin paused. “You want me to remove the blocks so you can escape.”
“No. I am just saying that if I am right, you could lose a great opportunity.”
Yeskin pursed his lips. “I need to consider this,” he said finally.
Derrick watched his captor leave. He had been given a reprieve, having no idea how long it would last, or if it would even matter.
- - -
In his search through Pablen Palace, Ansel had become adept at surreptitiously scanning and measuring rooms. While several hidden places did drop out of his holographic map, most were service walks or storage areas. They were also easily viewed through his psychic vision. The room he sought would be partially hidden from his vision, if only by Patér Linse’s presence.
Working his way through an inner wall, Ansel hit another blind space. As was his usual solution when encountering psychically protected rooms, Ansel moved his vision along the inner wall to get the dimensions of the room from the outside. It was no use however. The entire wall just seemed to have vanished.
Ansel moved along the edges of the empty space with his vision to get its overall size, and cross-referenced his measurements with his revised holographic map. The measurements did not match. He stood fro
m his chair and donned his acolyte’s habit. This was worth a visual inspection of the area. While it was premature to get overly hopeful, Ansel could not help but wonder if this time he had finally found the room hiding his master.
- - -
Still within the confines of the embattled city of Carran, Steuben reached a deep corridor in the building serving as his latest refuge that lead to the hidden sanctuary of Carran’s first NDB Temple, a smaller version of the new one Wyren now occupied. His lasgun raised and ready, the passageway shook as an explosion from above rumbled through the earth around him. Steuben paid little attention. Closing his eyes, he psychically searched for any nearby enemy soldiers.
He sensed no one, yet even with his psychic awareness heightened by the battle trance, he could not be certain. While most Possór foot soldiers received only limited psychic training, and he was willing to bet the same was true for most NDB and Guild soldiers, there was always a chance that he could encounter one of exceptional ability. But it was the only edge he had.
Steuben stopped to check another dark hallway. Again, the old soldier sensed no one. He kept moving. Given that NDB temples tended to follow a uniform design, his infiltration of one like this while on a mission allowed Steuben to focus on identifying and overcoming any obstacles in reaching his destination. The rest he would trust to his knowledge of the NDB.
Another blast rocked the building’s sub-foundations as the Colonel reached the door. Dust and ceiling tiles rained about him as the little illumination left to him flickered on and off. Under different circumstances, Steuben would have appreciated the justice in the planetary-seat of Legan’s NDB patriarch becoming a battleground, the NDB Church having a hand in so many conflicts on Legan. For now however, he thought only of the correct protocol to press on the wall-panel so that he could enter the shelter and escape from his pursuers.
As a new explosion sent a hot rush of air over him, Steuben heard the high, piercing sound of lasfire from the rooms above. Whether the attackers were soldiers of House Possór, the Consortium, or the NDB Church did not really matter. Events had now reached a point where any one of them might summarily execute him for what he had done, or what he knew.
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