House of Jackals

by Todd M. Moreno

  Rabbits, Lady Voxny thought scornfully, not at all hesitant to use her psychic abilities aggressively. Every one of them.

  "The rebels’ demands are simply immoral," said Derrick, signaling a servant to stand ready. "Sanctioning the jealousy of the covetous by government thievery is wrong. Stealing the fruits of other people’s labor to indulge one’s own sense of charity is a perversion. Take away property rights, and you take away the incentive to create and produce, leaving a society of decay and corruption." Although unsure about certain parts of his father's economic policy, Derrick knew that it was his obligation to advocate official positions.

  "But the rebels are reportedly a coalition, my Lord," someone said. "Some just want the NDB Church to be afforded the same—"

  "Excuse me," Derrick said, catching sight of someone he had seen earlier. Most within the group surrounding him graciously allowed him to leave. Liveried servants with drinks and hors d’oeuvres intercepted those trying to follow, just as Derrick had signaled them to do.

  Free from his rude detainment, Derrick watched the woman before him smell and look appraisingly at the exotic flora which his mother had collected during her visits off-planet. He smiled. He had greeted Archbishop Schnyder, the judge from the Holy Church, when the party began. The person he had not spoken with was the young truthseer accompanying her. She was the one he really wanted to see.

  Tillic had even remarked on her and, trying to lift Derrick's mood, ribaldly noted that the well-figured lady had "a set of resources which could satisfy a whole litter of hungry pups."

  Derrick had only laughed half-heartedly. The guard commander's attempt to vulgarize the truthseer offended him, more so now as he looked upon her. He had met a good many people at this gathering, but hers was one of the few names he cared to remember.

  Lilth watched Derrick move through the crowd. Turning her head, she saw the woman she had also intended to meet: Soror Cathena Barell. The Viscountess was about to join Derrick when she detected the presence of someone behind her. Casually Lilth pivoted around to see a young man coming toward her, knowing that the projection she had sensed was his.

  "Hello, Lady Voxny," the man said, giving her a slight bow.

  "Yes?" Lilth replied reservedly, recognizing him as a newly invested marquis from one of the few ruling families on Legan which lacked marital ties to House Possór.

  "I hope I did not startle you."

  Lilth would have laughed at him had she not already determined that she disliked the presumptuous marquis. "Not at all," she declared, throwing a quick glance toward Derrick.

  "Yeah, I have heard a lot about your abilities."

  The Viscountess lifted an eyebrow.

  "I imagine it would be hard to sneak up on someone like you."

  "You do, do you?" Lilth smiled at the cocky young man mirthlessly.

  Beautiful, Derrick admitted as he approached the truthseer, but deadly.

  The woman turned, sensing his attention. Like him, she wore black, but without any symbol of rank. The habit of her order, which would have been fashionable in some royal courts, was all she needed to declare her status. She closed the distance between them.

  “Good evening, Soror Barell,” he said, replaying in his mind the grace with which the young woman had moved. “I hope you are finding your trip to Legan agreeable.”

  "Thank you, my Lord," said the truthseer. "I have experienced nothing but generosity since leaving Valier. Incidentally, Your Lordship may be interested to hear that Soror Kellen is now Matér Kellen, and the chief administrator at one of my Order’s schools on Valier."

  Derrick's expression did not change.

  "I was told Matér Kellen was once a teacher of yours," the woman continued, her eyes fixed on his. "She was also one of mine, and is generally quite popular with her students."

  "Yes," Derrick replied, noticing the way her straight, long eyelashes rose and fell evenly with each blink. "Well, surely you received more from your teachers in the Disciplines than I."

  "The Deeper Training is reserved for those within the Holy Orders, my Lord," she agreed. "But I am sure that your mental training was quite substantial."

  And included the truth-sense, Derrick thought, wondering where she was leading.

  The Marquis grinned as he continued his remarks. "Not that Lady Josephine is a holy vessel of virtue," he stage-whispered.

  Lilth said nothing, irritated by the man’s conspicuous attempt to gain her favor. She may have disliked Burin’s wife, but as the self-styled Guardian of the Family, she disapproved of anyone outside of Legan’s Noble House criticizing any of its members.

  "Pity she is not here," Lilth replied evenly. Finishing her drink, psychically she created a web around her and the marquis, careful to keep her energies within the normal waves expected around people with the Training. She would honor Seffan’s command, but she would extract her due from this man. "You could have also tested Josephine’s mastery of the Disciplines."

  The marquis laughed heartily. "It was only a little probe," he insisted merrily, his handsome features more pronounced as he smiled. "Surely you will not hold it against me."

  "Maybe you just might have to make it up to me." Lilth made a small flirtatious laugh as she continued her preparations to teach the vain, unsuspecting marquis a lesson.

  "Sounds like fun,” he boldly resumed with a wink. “But really, given your grand reputation, how could one not try to get the better of you, if just once?"

  "And for you, why not have that ‘once’ be at your first party at Pablen Palace?" the Viscountess added laughingly as she closed in on him.

  "Yes, why not?” the Marquis replied with an appreciative nod. “With that, I might have made a name for myself, impressing even the most discriminating of Pablen's stuffy socialites."

  "This talk of psychic training is interesting, Soror," Derrick said, deciding to dispense with the frivolities, "but I am compelled to ask: Do you know if my father is innocent?"

  "I have made no such determination, my Lord." Soror Barell answered without any hint of surprise. Or offense. "Not that I would be at liberty now to disclose it."

  "But surely you already have a sense of some of us here on Legan," Derrick pressed, placing upon her his unconscious anger at himself for thinking of her as anything else but an enemy. "Might you be here to test the judges, as well as the witnesses?"

  "My orders are clear, my Lord. When the trial begins, I will use my vision to search for the knowledge I need in serving the court. It is not my place to judge anyone."

  “What a relief that must be,” said Derrick, glancing at the plasteel ceiling overhead for an unobstructed view of the early evening sky, a view made possible by lowering a section of the defense-shields. As the internal lighting slowly grew stronger, the stars began to disappear.

  Observing Derrick's conversation with the soror from the side, Lilth was not sure she liked what she saw. Still, she first needed to deal with the upstart marquis. Ready to proceed with her plan, Lilth laughed at one of the man's more innocuous comments, allowing him to think that he had won her over with his breezy, if not roguish, charm.

  The Marquis chuckled as well, leaning toward her to say something further. Lilth took the opportunity to touch the man’s hand. Instantly the psychic web she had generated intensified, encasing his mental shields. To anyone noticing the increase in psychic power, the man would seem to have had simply strengthened his mental defenses.

  Hidden from the heightened senses of others inside the shields however, Lilth created a paralyzing current of energy that flowed even after her fingertips fell from the man's exposed flesh. Weakening his ability to fend off her attack, Lilth had also prevented the surprised marquis from making any outward movements to betray their struggle.

  "You wanted to test me." Lilth's voice echoed in the man's mind as he fought her bid to seize control. She had already broken through his outer mental shield. "Now it is my turn."

  The Marquis, bent toward the much shorter
Viscountess in an apparent effort to hear her better, stood frozen in place. Meanwhile, as an aspect of her subconscious-self allowed her to audibly speak from a short script memorized for such an occasion, Lilth's projected awareness remained unrelenting in its battle for supremacy. Sweat appeared on the Marquis' face. He was losing ground. Lilth sensed the fear take hold as the man realized that he did not have the strength to expel the Voxny viscountess from his thoughts. He was going to lose.

  "I almost have you," said Lilth. Her words thundered in the Marquis' mind as her laughter seemed to reverberate along the linings of his inner skull. Experiencing a psychically simulated agony of long pointy fingers squeezing down into his brain and pulling it apart, the man capitulated, withdrawing his awareness to the hidden expanse of his unconscious, and allowing Lilth to assert her will over his body.

  "Well you have my congratulations on your appointment then, Soror,” said Derrick, intending to end their conversation. “Your position must be a nice one to have."

  "A truthseer’s responsibility is often heavy, my Lord," Barell assured him, surprisingly softened by his biting tone. "I rarely find the satisfaction that some may expect."

  "Even when Justice triumphs?" Derrick asked flippantly.

  “As in any conflict, those close to the defeated also lose. Including innocents." She took a weighted breath. "I will pray for your father’s deliverance. But if he is shown to be guilty, I will pray for those who will suffer along with him."

  "You seem saddened." Her manner touched the Possór heir despite himself. "Do you think that this might happen?"

  "My Lord," Soror Barell said softly, "I have no idea of the Count-Grandee's guilt or innocence, but I now know of yours."

  Astounded by her openness, and by its implications, Derrick knew that her ability to even make such a determination was significant by itself.

  Suddenly the Soror turned toward Lilth. Derrick looked as well, but saw nothing unusual. Everyone around them appeared calm and unconcerned. As the truthseer continued to stare, the Possór heir took the opportunity to study the features of her face more closely.

  Several loud grunts and squeals emanated from the young man standing next to the Viscountess, attracting the attention of everyone at the party, including the security personnel.

  "You are right, Marquis," Lilth cried, laughing with false glee. "You do a pig even better than your father, bless his departed soul." Others joined in her amusement, as the man, his arms to his sides and his feet pinned in place, snorted and oinked. The security guards on duty relaxed as Lilth called out again. "But can you do a good donkey?"

  Appearing to accept her challenge, the Marquis brayed and guffawed. Outstretching his arms and falling onto his hands, he kicked his legs out behind him.

  "Bravo, Marquis!" Lilth giggled, surrounded by the laughter of others. “Bravo.”

  "Alas, I cannot give you more," the Marquis' voice said stiffly, his eyes lifeless, "for I must return to the farm. Or could it be the zoo?"

  Count von Taccen, one of the many people watching the spectacle from a distance, said nothing. Eyeing the Voxny viscountess, the Emperor's representative could see the wary looks in her direction. The nervousness in some of the laughter of the crowd was obvious.

  The Marquis' hand gripped a nearby glass, raised it in toast, and brought it to his lips. The abundant spillage only added to the illusion that he was intoxicated. Lilth stayed close as he subsequently departed, mindful to keep the psychic tendrils she used to manipulate him hidden.

  The newly-made lord walked through two nearby service doors before Lilth released him.

  "I suggest that you not tell anyone what happened here," she projected as the man regained himself, "and that you treat the Possórs with more respect. Do not cross me or underestimate my powers again, Child. Having taken you once, I can now take you as I please."

  As Lilth's thoughts faded from his awareness, the once proud young man crumbled to his knees, whimpering. Raising his hands to his eyes, his utter humiliation soon had him crying uncontrollably, his body trembling in impotent rage and fearful despair.

  Lilth was exhausted by the time she severed her mental contact with the Marquis. What she had done had taken a great deal of effort, but it was worth it. Not only had she put the man in his place, she had added to her standing among those who had witnessed the show, and who knew better than to take it at face value.

  Pity though that the effect of such displays never lasted long. There seemed to be an endless supply of fools wanting to best her. Lilth had long ceased to wonder why they tried. It was incomprehensible. How could they not know by now that she would always win?

  The Viscountess was exchanging a few parting pleasantries when she abruptly felt the stare of the court's truthseer. Lilth smiled coldly as she lifted her eyes to the Soror's.

  Derrick watched them for several seconds, ignorant of what passed between the two women. After giving him a final measuring look, Lilth Morays left the party.

  ---

  "Is that our ship, Father?" Anson asked with a shiver, pointing to the elliptical transport carrier with the Possór jackal crest on its side.

  "Yes," replied Duke Burin as they started toward it, his hand upon his son's shoulder.

  "I don’t want to go," said Anson, stopping and pulling his father back. Looking about, Anson saw a few hangar-bay workers watching him. One heavyset one took a lingering interest.

  "Don't be silly," Josephine chided with forced calm. "We must go."

  The boy remained as he was, slowly shaking his head.

  "Anson!" the Duchess called sharply. "We are going."

  The harshness of her voice made him resume walking, but Anson continued to study the ship carefully. He then looked at the other ships around them, the building they were in, the three maintenance droids busily cleaning the area, and the people still watching their approach. The details of the scene flooded into his awareness, his perceptions heightened by a triggering from his mental training. The odd, sickly feeling he had before surfaced again.

  His breath catching, Anson stopped, confused by a strange sense of dread.

  "Anson," the Duchess said with a soft-voiced intensity.

  Anson looked up at her hardened face and continued walking. Reaching the landing platform, the three entered their transport, with his mother having to pull Anson forward.

  Using an intra-planetary shuttle, their compartment was small but comfortable. Under the circumstances, Burin and Josephine would have settled for a cargo-carrier. The plushness of his surroundings was of equal concern to Anson.

  "There, Anson," Burin said after they were seated for departure. "Now you can tell us that ‘something’ you wanted to talk about."

  Anson lifted his eyebrows and glanced toward his mother. He had told his father that he wanted to speak with him privately. The boy felt his stomach fall in time with the aircraft's abrupt suspensor-field lift-off.

  "Yes, yes," the Duchess urged as they all felt the shuttle accelerate and bank to the right. Although she seemed relieved about something, Anson thought that she looked a bit distracted. "You wanted us alone, and this may be our only opportunity."

  "I—" Anson began, stumbling on the first word. He swallowed, but the feeling returned to him once again. "Mother, FATHER--!"

  Witnesses reported that the primary explosion occurred at the bottom of the craft's port side. The shuttle jolted only once before a secondary blast burst the whole ship into flames, disintegrating it in one great fireball. Experts speculated that the passengers had no warning or knowledge of what happened to them.

  ---

  XIII

  Commander Tillic sat back in his chair, silently reassessing the information he had on the deaths of Burin and his family, given what Derrick just told him. "Your conversation with Anson can change nothing officially," he said tentatively. "Bound by our duty to maintain the Emperor’s Peace, the Palace has already called it an accident."

  “An accident,” Derrick scoffe
d. “And who really believes that? Accidents like this do not occur on routine flights, particularly those carrying Family members.”

  "That is the government’s explanation, whether people believe it or not. Unofficially, it leaves us alone in dealing with this...murder."

  "You mean with this assassination," Derrick corrected.

  Tillic noticed the tremble of Derrick's left fist. In the year since his mother’s death, Derrick had barely graduated with his class at the Academy, had had bouts of complete social withdrawal, had engaged in activities that risked his safety, and…

  Tillic did not want to dwell on the most serious manifestation of Derrick's depression.

  "What is HOPIS doing about this?" Derrick asked.

  "As an accident, this has more to do about maintenance than security,” Tillic replied. “Still, security has been redoubled." He tossed a hand into the air. "As if security wasn’t already heightened for the trial." He sighed. "Does anyone else know what Anson said?"

  Derrick shook his head, unable to speak through a suddenly clenched jaw.

  "My HOPIS contact is having difficulty correlating what happened with this shuttle, and the shuttle that was shot down in the near accident involving you. But if your incident was really an attack to destabilize House Possór rule, why switch targets to someone uninvolved in government? Why not continue to focus on the Family's main line?"

  Derrick straightened. “Main line?” he asked. “My father’s brother and his family are—”

  “I meant,” Tillic said impatiently, “why not just kill you?” The Possór heir’s eyes widened, but the old guard commander continued, albeit delicately. “Your uncle’s trip wasn’t scheduled much in advance. Attacking Family members at the Palace is difficult enough. Doing it with little or no lead time is extraordinary. If the rebels have special access, again one has to wonder why they didn’t target someone having a greater political and emotional impact."

  "Maybe they were just being opportunistic," Derrick said coldly. "Neither my father nor I have planned any trips—tentatively or otherwise." He swallowed. "As to the other," the words barely passed his teeth, "I think the killing of a young boy has a tremendous emotional impact."