Blood of Jackals (Lords of Legan Book 2)

by Todd Marcelas Moreno

  Valmont duly kissed her cheek. “To what do I owe this surprise, Mother?”

  “Really, Couri. Would it truly sting to be a little glad to see me?”

  “I am ever glad to know you are well, Mother. I only wonder why you came.”

  “To see you,” she insisted. “And talk, of course. Have you maid service here?” Valmont laughed.

  “My place is clean as always, Mother. Though I do not think you would like what you would see. As I recall, you disapprove of the company I keep.”

  “Couri, I don’t care if a roommate helps defray the cost of living in a place like this.” She looked about the lobby area somewhat doubtfully. “The pictures you had on your walls though...and whatever the things you had lying about...”

  “It is all still there, Mother. I do know this little bistro where we can go.”

  Valmont’s mother glanced outside past the doors of the hotel nervously. “I’m not really hungry.” She again looked about the lobby.

  She wants to talk, Valmont thought, but is still shy about being seen with me in public. “We can go to the waiting area you were in?” he offered. “At this time of day, it is private enough, I think.” The woman nodded, seeing no alternative.

  “Couri,” she began, once they were seated, her voice but a whisper. “Your father is having all known rogue initiates questioned over the abduction of Lord Derrick. Any who will not embrace the True Church will be psychically burned.”

  “So it is rumored,” Valmont replied. “But I am not a rogue initiate, Mother.”

  “But your training in the psychic sciences—”

  “I do not whore my abilities to the highest bidder, Mother. Nor do I earn my living performing tricks for hire. I am not a rogue initiate.”

  “According to the Church, you are.”

  “Why? Because I no longer go to temple, or maintain my fellowship?”

  “Please come back to us,” his mother pleaded. “Your father will—”

  “Never accept me,” Valmont finished. “Pity he cannot just forget about me.”

  “He could never forget his own son,” his mother chided.

  “No. Especially in a purge to burn the psychic abilities out of nonbelievers. But thank you for the warning, Mother. I would expect nothing less from him.”

  “You could do a little temple work,” she suggested. “Just every so often.”

  “I would sooner convert and become a Miran Catholic.”

  “You don’t mean that!” she gasped. “To cast yourself into the...”

  “I do not believe in the Outer Darkness, Mother,” he said, naming the NDB doom that she could not. Or in your Paths of Apostasy that will lead me there.” The woman shuttered. “Do not worry though. I will be careful of Father.”

  - - -

  Vaid Ketrick entered the chapel with his guards taking positions around the room. The former DuCideon grandmaster was still angry, but he was also grateful for the loyal brothers he still had. He had feared possibly having even fewer.

  Sighting Anios Tenatte, Ketrick came forward and sat behind him. At the front of the room, another mourner paid his respects to the man whose body lay in repose near the altar. It had long been a running joke between the two that they, as the planetary heads of the DuCideon Brotherhood and the Consortium, met to discuss relations between their respective organizations only at funerals. Although Ketrick had recently lost his position, this meeting was no different.

  “Hello Anios,” Ketrick said, tapping the man on his left shoulder.

  “Vaid!” Tenatte replied, twisting in his seat. “I killed this bastard as soon as I heard,” Tenatte tilted his head toward the dead man, ignoring those who turned around at them at his confession. “Those whoreson NDBs!”

  “Thank you, Anios.” Whether Tenatte had meant it as a continuation of their inside joke or not, Ketrick acknowledged the fact that the former DuCideon spy lying in the box not more than a few rows away was still dead. Pity the man had not been NDB. “Despite our competing interests, you have long been a friend.”

  Tenatte flashed his perfectly formed teeth. “How can I help?”

  “Invite me to Chais Wyren’s funeral?”

  “Funny you ask. The NDB’s puppet DuCideon grandmaster has warned us about advancing our position on Legan at their expense. He says that they are fully constituted, and ready to defend themselves and their territorial operations.”

  “Who is the new grandmaster?” Ketrick asked, knowing that Lancet Gardet, the man the NDB had intended to replace him, was certainly dead.

  “Allenford Biam.”

  “Seffan’s ass-licking politician?”

  “Yes, well, it is Lord Jordan’s ass he’s puckering up for now.”

  “What will you do?”

  A laugh escaped Tenatte. “We will wait,” he said, turning serious. “But if Lord Jordan goes with the NDB, it will be war. I’m sorry about your misfortune, Vaid. Really. We had some good times. But now the DuCideon Brotherhood must go. Even if it means taking on the NDB Church to do it.”

  “I would be willing to help,” Ketrick said slowly. “Fight the NDB, that is.”

  Tenatte smiled. “Until the NDB and Brotherhood are no longer united then, let’s work together. And afterward, I’ll even let you deliver Wyren’s eulogy.”

  - - -

  Ossidel Castle had been Guishaun’s home since birth. It was not large for a royal residence, but it was big enough to hide the political quarantine of Seonas Possór’s family. At least, for those who did not live there.

  Beginning under Count-Grandee Astov Possór, brother of Seonas Possór, Guishaun’s father, and through the reign of Seffan Possór, Astov’s son, Seonas’ family had paid for the shame of incest he brought by marrying his niece, and siring two sons. By the time Guishaun reached adulthood, his home was but a richly decorated prison. He therefore valued his newfound freedom greatly, and therefore greatly resented having to return to his former jail, to speak to the man to whom he owed his life, the same man who had made that life nearly unbearable.

  “I am sorry, Lord Guishaun,” said the castle’s major domo, “but you need to make an appointment to see Lord Seonas.”

  “I will meet with my father, Karris,” Guishaun intoned, staring coldly.

  “But he is asleep, my Lord, and does not wish to be disturbed.”

  “We both know he is never fully awake, Karris, and why he doesn’t want to see me. But he will.” Guishaun pulled out a lasgun, aiming it at the man’s head.

  “My Lord, really!” the little man squeaked. “This isn’t necessary!”

  “Step aside, Karris, or it will be.”

  “If you fire, my Lord, House Security will be on you instantly, starting with the guards that are just beyond these doors.”

  “You’re right, Karris. That’s why I won’t use this.” Guishaun grabbed the man’s hand and released a burst of psychic energy. As a commoner, Karris was no match to Guishaun’s power. His mental shields overwhelmed, Guishaun’s blow rendered the man him unconscious. Guishaun left the man where he fell as he proceeded to his father’s room.

  Seonas Possór’s chamber was once a throne room. Stripped of all decoration and re-paneled, the darkened room had the feeling of a dim church. With his tomb-like bed serving as an altar for petitioning supplicants, Lord Seonas exercised what little remaining influence he had over petty local matters.

  As Guishaun entered, the two guards inside came to attention, but offered no challenge. The room’s illumination also changed. Though designed to heighten the experience of entering Seonas Possór’s presence, Guishaun knew the lighting signaled more than mere theatrics. The machine controlling the room also enabled his father to maintain his drug-induced high. It was now reviving him. Despite knowing how his father’s medical staff kept his body and drug interactions calibrated, it amazed him how fast his father could be made coherent. What the drug-spawned lethargy did to his father’s body however was his to guess.

  Once Guishaun reach
ed the position protocol designated as appropriate for a royal audience, a holographic image of Seonas sitting upon a throne materialized before him. “Good evening, Father,” Guishaun said with a mocking bow.

  “You were told I was resting, Guishaun,” Seonas said without emotion. The holographic programmers had only put so much effort in patterning the image after Seonas’s mannerisms and tone. Still the guards heard Seonas’ displeasure and stepped forward. Guishaun ignored them as he gazed upon the ageless face, wondering what facial traits were now left to imitate.

  “Is it true that the Consortium and NDB will support your bid for the throne?”

  “Leave us,” Seonas ordered the guards, who obeyed instantly. He returned his attention to Guishaun. “I will be Grandee,” his image proclaimed.

  “Bastard. You’re going to take everything away from us again.”

  “I never took anything from you. By me you came into being. You have no cause to complain about being alive. It’s my demon brother, Astov, who—”

  “You could have gone quietly. Instead, you threw a tantrum and created political havoc. Your indulgences led to us basically living under house arrest.”

  “What they have done to me is unjust.”

  “To you? That’s debatable. You cost us our freedom. Now your selfish desires again come at our expense.”

  “How can my taking the throne hurt you? Varian and you are my heirs.”

  “The problem is not your taking the throne, but bidding for it.” The holographic image remained still. “They will never give it to you,” Guishaun explained, “and because you will insist upon your rights, they will avoid dealing with you by passing over all of us, giving Jordan the crown.”

  “Jordan? My claim is superior—”

  “Don’t you understand?” Guishaun breathed, stepping closer. “Who wants a strung-out drug addict as Grandee? You can’t rule through a hologram. When did anyone outside your medical team last see you? Can you even sit up by yourself? I bet your body is so wasted away, you’d drown in your own piss if not for the machine that also takes your shits for you.”

  “I am glad you take my medical condition so lightly.”

  “What medical condition? You did this to yourself. It didn’t happen to you. You’re just lucky you were noble born. Any other drug user would have died a long time ago. As they should have done. As you should have done.”

  “Your concern over my physical limitations is touching. You need not be overly troubled however. Even as we speak, my body is being regenerated. It will not be immediate, but soon I will be more... publicly presentable.”

  “You—!” Guishaun cut himself off, damning his lack of foresight. “And how will you explain your past? Everyone knows what you are.”

  “Everyone likes a story of someone coming back from the brink, Guishaun. People will hear about my tragic tale of love, and weep. Then they will hear how I pulled myself out of my depression and dependency. They will cheer. Against all odds, Seonas Possór triumphs!”

  “Yes, the patron saint of selfish intemperance,” Guishaun quipped.

  “Shame on you, Guishaun. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

  “At least ten or twelve times. Living through your drug-inspired dreams—”

  “Do not dismiss the power of my visions. They are not those of some piece of human bile passed out in a doorway. I have seen things you cannot imagine, gone deeper than you can fathom, and been to places you cannot conceive. How dare you look upon me with disdain?”

  “You speak grandly for an addict whose life has crashed down around him.”

  “My betrayers did not rob me of everything when they cast me down. Do you know of the Beydakin?”

  “They were a religious order that was declared apostate and suppressed.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Because they lived off the labors of others so that they could pursue ‘enlightenment’ for themselves. The Miran Church declared their selfishness immoral, given that the Order should have used its own resources to maintain itself, and not feed off the local populace without giving something in return.”

  “Sligshit. All religious entities rely on donations.”

  “But the Beydakin didn’t serve the people. They stayed in their monasteries, indulging in their endless drug-induced ‘meditations.’ Evidently, the Church did not see the value of monks exploring the cosmic mysteries and not reporting what they discovered.”

  “The Beydakin Order came under interdict because their visions were not acceptable to the Church hierarchy. They saw things the Church was afraid of seeing.” Seonas closed his eyes, as if returning to some private place. “I know. I have seen the same things.”

  “All that you need is here, Father,” Guishaun said, dismissing Seonas’s pronouncements. “Here you are free to pursue your visions as far as you wish. As Grandee, your time will not be your own. Why go through the pain of rejuvenating old muscles for nothing but bother?”

  “The rebuilding process gives me no discomfort. I feel nothing.”

  “Why do it Father?”

  “They took my life away from me, Guishaun. They denied me my birthright. I will have it back. I will be Grandee.”

  “Spite and ego. Admirable qualities in a ruler.”

  “I am not some politician running for office. I have no need to hide my desire for power behind a screen of righteous justifications. And certainly not to you, who takes so keen an interest and yet is not next in line behind me. So, do you intend to talk your dumb brother into stepping aside for you as well?”

  “You, of all people, have no right to belittle Varian.”

  “Face it: Your brother has the mental acuity of an untrained dog.”

  “Because of what you did!” Guishaun snapped. “To us both, you sonofa—”

  “Are you whining again about your lost innocent days in the sun?”

  “No. I’m talking about two little boys abused by their own fa—”

  “Enough!” Seonas roared. “Dredging up the past serves no purpose. The fact remains that Varian is an idiot, and beyond help.”

  “You could have helped him,” Guishaun accused, “and paid for treatment.”

  “He did not want treatment. He refused treatment.”

  “Because he was too ashamed to talk about—”

  “He refused. And who was I to substitute my judgment for his?”

  “His father. Besides, Varian was too young to make that decision himself.”

  “So, he will open his bad dreams and addled thoughts to a prying stranger now?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are we wasting time on him? I cannot change the past. Tell me, Mister Politician, why should I disclaim the throne in your favor?”

  “Because you don’t deserve it.”

  Seonas Possór’s holographic laughter had a detached mechanical malignancy, with a repeated loop that made him look insane. “Who does, Boy?”

  “I do,” Guishaun said defiantly.

  “You? With your pink suits and open lover? Didn’t I teach you discretion?”

  “Yes, but you never practiced it. At least I have integrity.”

  “Well how do you expect to rule a planet with a handicap like that? Legan doesn’t want an interim ‘pop-up’ ruler, Guishaun. It wants continuity.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “At least Varian can be married off to some pretty but stupid cur to pump out an heir. You, on the other hand, are a genealogical dead-end. Worthless. Unless,” Seonas paused, “you have a sham marriage. You can get it up for a woman, can’t you, Mr. Integrity?”

  “You really are an evil bastard, Father,” Guishaun managed through gritted teeth, his right hand a shaking tightly held fist at his side.

  “In some people’s eyes, so are you. Nonetheless, I will be Grandee, Guishaun.” The image of his father leaned in close. “Do not get in my way.”

  - - -

  Steuben opened the door to one of his apartments and saw Kamar
in looking out the window. “How the hell did you get in here?” he asked, taking off his jacket and tossing it on a nearby chair with weary irritability. He had just finished with preparations for an extended trip to Landsig, and had only come back to this apartment to get a few things. He should have gone to Landsig directly.

  “Getting in was easy, Colonel,” Kamarin replied, stepping from the window. “It was finding your little rathole that was hard.”

  “Hey, take it easy on the rats, Taniell,” Steuben chided, walking past her to get something to drink. “They’re like family to me.”

  “Why aren’t you out looking for Lord Derrick?” Kamarin asked, glancing around the room. “I know it’s not so that you can do any house cleaning.”

  “A man must do three things, no matter his goal: eat, sleep and take a dump.”

  “For which one do you come here then?” Kamarin asked, eyeing a pile of clothes in the corner. “Wait, let me guess.”

  “If you’re so concerned about cleanliness, why didn’t you at least tidy up the place while you were waiting, instead of just sitting around on your ass?”

  “I’m not your woman.”

  “Put boosters on a garbage can and it’s a rocket.” Steuben finished off his drink. “Look Taniell, I’m tired. What do you really want?”

  “Why won’t you work with us in finding Lord Derrick?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to work with me.”

  “I don’t want to do a lot of things, but I have my orders. You have orders as well. You’re supposed to find him.”

  “How do you know I’m not trying? Come on, Taniell, show a little trust.”

  “My weapon’s not drawn, Colonel. I’m showing you enough trust.”

  “And here I thought you just didn’t want to play ‘Whose Gun Is the Biggest?’ Admit it, Taniell: You can’t even give a specific reason why you don’t trust me.”

  “I have lots of reasons.”

  “You have suspicion. You would go to the Assembly if you had reason.”

  “Fine. And you? Why don’t you trust me?”

  “You want Lord Derrick dead.”

  “What makes you say that?”