House of Jackals

by Todd M. Moreno

  I will not let them shame us without a fight, Derrick silently vowed. The Emperor—Parliament—even the Holy Church, they can all be damned. House Possór stands together.

  "My Lord," said a man who had quietly stepped behind him.

  "Yes, Lenalt?" Derrick answered his new valet as he calmly turned around.

  "Count von Taccen requests to see you privately, my Lord," Lenalt Depré responded, his face conveying dutiful subservience. “He said it was of some urgency, but that was all.”

  "Show him to the green reception hall."

  "Yes, my Lord." Depré smiled, bowed again and left.

  Is it time for a deal? Derrick wondered. Maybe the Emperor was having doubts about the case. A subsequent pardon for an immediate admission of guilt? Or maybe just a big fine?

  Suddenly he considered something else he had been avoiding.

  If we lose, Father might be executed.

  ---

  Count von Taccen stood waiting in the same room where Derrick had greeted him and the other judges when they had first arrived at the Palace. In his hand was a half-empty glass of wine. Thinking idly to himself, the Emperor's representative did not know whether it was the wine's vintage or the room's decor that impressed him the least.

  "Good evening, my Lord Count," Derrick said, walking through the doorway wearing an evening jacket with the Possór jackal at the breast.

  "Good evening, Lord Derrick," the large gray-haired man replied, setting his glass down on a table. Neither of them extended his hand.

  "You wished to speak with me?"

  "Yes," Von Taccen's voice bellowed. "I just wanted to express His Imperial Majesty's concern over this case." He moved closer. "And to tell you of his understanding if you are under any strain in judging it." A seasoned diplomat, Von Taccen saw Derrick’s surprise at how quickly he had come to the point. No doubt the Possór heir had expected a little innocuous prattle before they began negotiations.

  "A judge must be able to try all cases objectively," replied Derrick.

  By paraphrasing a mandate from the Imperial Judicial Code, Derrick had passed Von Taccen’s first test. A lesser man would have stalled their discussion by fighting over the implication of His Majesty's concern. "His Majesty would be pleased to hear that, and looks forward to seeing your written decision."

  Derrick said nothing as he walked further into the room.

  "I confess to some study of jurisprudence," Derrick said finally, facing his guest. "But I am undeserving of His Majesty's attention for legal scholarship. Besides, I may not be the author of the court's majority opinion. I hope the Emperor would not find disappointment."

  "I dare say," Von Taccen inhaled deeply, "I believe His Majesty would be more interested in your resolution, than in any analytic details."

  "It is of more immediate effect," Derrick agreed. "However, given Imperial law and the facts involved, I assure you that my position will be justified, and my choice of principles clear."

  "His Majesty could not ask for more. True respect for the laws of the Imperium is no longer as common as one might hope." Von Taccen retook his glass, silently toasting Derrick before taking a sip.

  Derrick nodded, acknowledging the courtesy as he eyed the Count.

  "You know, Lord Derrick," Von Taccen said in a different tone, stepping forward with his glass in hand, "if Fate strikes your father down with a guilty verdict, an appeal by you as Legan's new lord may be successful in obtaining a limited pardon for House Possór. A great deal is at stake here, and you should know that the Emperor appreciates this."

  "Do you think the Emperor might lessen my father's sentence and restore his title?"

  The corners of Von Taccen's mouth straightened. "I think only that the pecuniary claims against House Possór might be reduced," the older man said firmly. "Depending, of course, on the nature of the respective judgments to be made."

  "Do you suggest that I vote against my father simply for the sake of money?" Derrick's eyes narrowed. His patience for this game they played had expired. Von Taccen was only mildly disappointed.

  "I suggest nothing, Lord Derrick," the larger man replied easily. He drained his glass as Derrick stood studying him. Come on, boy, thought the Count-patent. You are supposed to fence with me, not brawl. Have you been taught nothing?

  "I must say, Count von Taccen," said Derrick, slowly shaking his head as he bit off his words, "I do not appreciate the assumptions under which you make your remarks."

  "If Seffan is pronounced innocent, the terms of this...chat will be moot." Von Taccen replaced his glass on the table. "But if proven guilty, you should cast your vote carefully." Again his voice lowered. "This trial does not have to be an all-or-nothing affair. House Possór can still survive your father's downfall."

  "Presuming my innocence," Derrick said, trying for a reaction.

  Von Taccen only shrugged. His message had been delivered.

  "It may surprise you, Von Taccen," Derrick went on, "but I value my father's life and our honor more than our wealth. We do not sell our blood, or our pride. If an appeal must be made, I will make it on behalf of both House Possór and my father."

  "How very grand," Von Taccen said flatly. "If your father is declared guilty and you make such an appeal however, the Emperor will grant nothing." Having said the last few words somewhat venomously, von Taccen paused before making his way to the door.

  "It would be different," Derrick called, "if the charges against him were bona fide."

  Von Taccen stopped without turning. "How so?"

  "If anyone were truly guilty of what my father is accused, he would deserve the maximum sentence. However, an appeal—"

  "Anyone?" Von Taccen faced Derrick with a raised brow. "I am curious, my young Lord Derrick, do you not support any preferential treatment for judicially condemned nobles?"

  "When one ceases to live nobly,” said Derrick, “one is no longer noble."

  Von Taccen remembered an admonishment that Guerren Andior had mentioned hearing as a boy: “When you no longer adhere to the codes of our House, you are no longer of our House, and are no longer worthy of its privileges.” Von Taccen wondered briefly where Derrick might have learned such a notion. It certainly did not come from his father...or any other Possór.

  "But my father is innocent," Derrick continued, "and if an appeal becomes necessary, I will make one, to the greatest extent possible."

  Von Taccen only stood there, steadily looking at the twenty-one-year-old Possór heir directly in the eyes.

  ---

  The feeling of panic had begun during the final moments of his meeting with Count von Taccen. After the Count-patent had left, Derrick had gone to his chambers to compose himself.

  Something is wrong, he thought, recognizing the feeling as a warning, one borne from his training in the Mental Disciplines, and one that he could not ignore. Maintaining the breathing rhythm of his relaxation exercise, Derrick closed his eyes and concentrated.

  He was not well-practiced with his psychic vision. Lacking any aptitude, Derrick had simply accepted the limits to his skill and focused on other training. This was not the time to berate himself for his failure to try sooner however. Or to make excuses.

  Derrick’s vision generally came to him in one of two ways. The first produced an actual view of a place or an event. Theoretically, one could move such a vision with subtle mental nudges, though Derrick found it easier to let the vision move on its own. The problem was that doing so could lead to a psychic search going on indefinitely, without any meaningful results. The risk was all the greater if one lacked a meditative focus, be it an object or even a key word.

  Derrick exhaled deeply and opened his eyes. As expected, having no idea where or what to focus on, nothing useful came to him. The images he did receive were also devoid of people. This too was no surprise, as people trained in the Disciplines could shield themselves from the psychic visions of others. But Derrick sensed that his vision was focusing on the right place. Granted, the ima
ges were rather general, and the spatial perspectives odd and difficult to alter, but it seemed to be “there” somehow. That left him with one last avenue to try.

  A person strong in the second technique known to Derrick could unconsciously sift directly through a myriad of possible visions—instantaneously. Ideally, this type of vision brought forth that which had the greatest meaning to the one having the vision, often revealing things one might not have thought to search for, not knowing their significance. Attempting this on a conscious level, even on a limited scale, could take a lifetime.

  More, while people might hide from the psychic vision of others, within the unconscious well of every individual was a bridge to a collective awareness. Few, if any, could hide there. As Derrick understood it, all that was, is, and ever will be, shared a connection which made time and place irrelevant. Within a person’s mind, one could cross from the finite to the infinite. But the unconscious did not speak literally, instead relying on symbols and representations, some with meanings specific to the seeker. This often made such visions difficult to interpret.

  Derrick resumed his breathing pattern and began his search again. As he had been taught, he let his awareness "float," not providing it any specific direction.

  "Your unconscious knows what is important to you," one teacher told him. "More than your conscious-self does. In a conscious search, we tend to be systematic, using an orderly methodology. For the unconscious, however, the past, present and future are one. Accept that, but remember: Visions of the future are only possibilities, ones which can be altered."

  The images that Derrick received however did not conform to anything he expected. It was a different type of vision from what he had ever experienced. In a blast of revelation, he saw a group of jackals fighting amongst themselves in a large darkened den, their shadows flickering in the light from an outside fire. Backing away, he turned around, only to face a large jackal staring at him, with the bodies of four other jackals lying dead at its feet.

  Will you feast with us? the chief jackal seemed to ask as two smaller jackals joined him, flames rising behind them and encircling them all. Without looking back, Derrick sensed that the other jackals had come up from the den and were watching him.

  Derrick did not answer, frozen by the lead jackal’s eyes as the others slowly closed in.

  Without further thought, Derrick ran, pushing past two other jackals and jumping over the approaching wall of flames. The jackals all gave chase. Derrick focused only on running, unaware of how far the others were, and unmindful of the fires which sprung to life around him.

  Running. Running at all speed. Running his sole purpose.

  His path narrowing from the growing conflagration, Derrick saw before him a cliff and a red open sky. To his left were two great black eagles, perched upon a golden tower.

  To where will you run now, Little Dog? came a voice inside his head.

  Derrick slowed as he reached the edge of a chasm. Behind them he could hear the other jackals drawing near.

  If pressed, a second voice whispered, he will jump, my Love.

  The first giant eagle looked to the other, its black feathers stark against the blood red sky. Flaring its wings, it stretched out one of its talons and returned its gaze to Derrick.

  I can scatter their carcasses like chaff upon the wind, the eagle proclaimed as the sounds of the pursuing jackals grew louder. But why should I not scatter you as well, Little Dog?

  Derrick had no answer, the pounding of his heart driving echoing thoughts from his mind.

  Run, he told himself. Fly.

  Glancing back once at the growling and teeth-baring jackals, Derrick leapt into the air and into the void below.

  Thrown from his psychic vision, Derrick fell from his chair and struck the ground, tears escaping from behind closed lids as he wept and trembled.

  ---

  Hellfire! Henely swore, bracing himself against a nearby table after receiving news that Derrick had cleared his calendar and was making an unscheduled trip to Government Archives.

  The First Advisor's thoughts raced as he puzzled over Derrick's sudden interest. Clearly Derrick anticipated that his inquiry could take some time. His decision to conduct his research personally, despite his heavy schedule, only further suggested an investigation into things best left unexamined. More, Archives was one place that he could have full privacy. If the correct procedures were followed, not even HOPIS would be able to monitor his activity.

  Henely took some comfort that the trial would start the following day. Time was against the uncooperative lordling, whose judicial duties would soon begin. Knowing that his people had reviewed the Archives' files months before was also reassuring. That Derrick might find something was thus not the issue. It was what had made him so unexpectedly curious.

  You’re not supposed to be doing this, Derrick, Henely said silently. Tillic is to be the one to tell you everything.

  Finding a chair, the First Advisor quietly assessed the potential damage to his plan. From the reports he had on the guard commander's movements, Henely was certain that Tillic had not yet informed Derrick of his investigative findings. This meant that another agency had fed Derrick something he had found disturbing, or at least worthy of his efforts to pursue personally.

  Biam? Henely wondered, having grown distrustful of the senior advisor since their last conversation. Henely had told Biam more than he should have, and Biam knew it. Henely shook his head, reminding himself to inquire about his associate's true religious affiliation.

  Allenford can't prove a thing in any event, Henely thought, considering how his words might be used against him. Best to further implicate Biam in a few new matters. Biam would jump at being brought deeper into Henely’s plans. All Henely needed was for him to be deep enough to know that if he said anything, he would go down along with the First Advisor.

  Lousin Henely laughed.

  Besides, I doubt the stupid bootlicker has the imagination to cross me—let alone the stomach to dare consider it.

  Henely would watch Biam, but look for someone else. This source had to be discovered. Until then, he had to make sure that Derrick did not find out anything further on his own, even if he had to ask his contact in the Assembly to stage another incident.

  Tillic must be hurried along as well, the First Advisor realized, noting that the old guard commander was taking longer to complete his investigation than anticipated. Derrick still had to learn the truth about his father before the trial progressed too far, and Tillic had to herald Derrick’s disillusionment as his final service to the Crown.

  Henely smiled with malefic satisfaction.

  Then, after Derrick reacted accordingly, Henely would come to him, offering his heartfelt understanding and support, and taking Tillic's trusted place at the young count-grandee's side.

  ---

  XVII

  Derrick strode down the corridor with his face calm and his jaw tight. He had expected the Director of Government Archives to be surprised by his unannounced visit. He had even anticipated the man's concern as security personnel took up stations around the large, plain-looking building and its grounds. What he had not foreseen was his cool reception.

  Whether he was a threat to the Director's territory, or just a nuisance, Derrick initially let the man prattle over the procedures for an Archives' information "request." When the Director tried to eject him with patronizing assurances that "his" people would get back to him however, Derrick tired of the man. Politely but firmly, Derrick asked to be shown a security terminal that could accept a high-level clearance while blocking all external monitoring, something he did not know he could do at the Palace. Still the Director dithered, annoyed at being pressed to serve as an escort. That was when Derrick curtly made his request a command. The effect was as if he had cuffed the Director, but the man remembered his place, and obeyed the Lord-Regent.

  Now the short-legged Director trotted to keep pace as Derrick pushed through the maze of halls and common a
reas, grimacing as guards took up stations along their way. Derrick smiled, thinking it right for the petty little man to have his personal empire invaded on occasion.

  "Here you are, my Lord," the Director said, entering a code and pressing his forefinger to a small wall-scanner to open a door. Derrick nodded back to him, but before he could step forward, two guards crossed in front of him to inspect the room. Derrick said nothing, aware of how unhappy his security commander was with the unscheduled trip already. Satisfied with the arrangements, the two guards returned and nodded to their commander.

  "Thank you, Director Alfueh," Derrick said before looking beyond the man and speaking to his security commander. "All is secured?"

  "Yes, my Lord," the officer answered, pressing a button on her wristband to acknowledge a status report. "No one will enter or exit the building without authorization."

  “Good,” said Derrick. "Let no one disturb me." Dismissing the officer, Derrick cut off another protest from the Director. "The guard captain can answer any other questions, Director Alfueh. If I require you, I will call." Leaving the Director with his mouth hanging, Derrick entered the room without further word, only to fall back against the door behind him.

  Lightheaded, Derrick closed his eyes and psychically willed away his fatigue. It receded quickly, but he knew that he could not afford any more sleepless nights. The past several months of incessant activity, supported by numerous artificial stimulants, had already taken its toll.

  Even as Derrick promised himself some real rest, realization of his physical condition brought new doubts. Acutely aware of the work awaiting his return to the Palace, he questioned his very presence at the Archives. His time was limited, given the trial's onset the following day. Nonetheless, he needed answers. Otherwise his last vision would continue to haunt his dreams.

  The Possór heir opened his eyes and stepped forward. "Computer," he began. "Initiate program for Security Sequence 679." Two secondary walls immediately moved into position, one blocking the door through which he had entered. An ensuing faint hum also told him a dampening field was activated. Now he could speak freely without fear of being overheard.