“Yes?” she said, peering through an opening only large enough for her face to show. She would have no idea who he was, but Steuben was not the kind of stranger one would feel comfortable with suddenly appearing at your home.
“Good evening. I’m here regarding Taniell. May I come in?”
“She’s not here. What do you want?” Through the fierceness of her voice, Steuben saw the woman’s fear. He ought to have sent a courier, for what comfort could he give this woman who clearly realized that her friend was dead? Steuben took out the envelope he carried.
“This is for Rachel,” he said, offering it in an open palm.
“What is it?” She had not moved, her grief not yet overcoming her distrust. Steuben sighed before opening the envelope. The woman instantly recognized the chain and locket. “Where did you get that?” she gasped.
Steuben offered it to her again and, when she took it, turned to leave. There was nothing he could tell the woman about Taniell’s death. It saddened him, though whether despite or because of his own involvement, he did not know. Taniell’s daughter Rachel would deserve to know, when she was older. And Taniell deserved for her daughter to know. Perhaps, for that reason, he would someday return. But now he had other matters to attend. Thankfully, the woman at the door did not call for him to come back.
Couri Valmont was missing, presenting another complication in Steuben’s relationship with the rebels. Steuben had not only been the last one to see Taniell, he was also the last one to have spoken with Valmont. The Assembly of course wanted answers, and was now more concerned over Valmont than Derrick. The Colonel could understand that. If the Possór government had captured a member of the Assembly, the whole rebel leadership was at risk.
And so, cutoff from his government resources, and aware that his rebel associations might be his only chance to survive, Steuben was off to find him, starting with the one lead the Assembly had given him: Valmont’s father, Chais Wyren, the NDB Patriarch of Legan.
- - -
“He’s got me, Dorie,” Guishaun whispered, swallowing the last of his wine. It was a good vintage, better than what they had at Ossidel. “Now Varian can’t even renounce the throne with any permanent effect. My uncle will make him a puppet, and then cast us both aside.”
“Why not claim the throne after Varian is deposed?” asked Dorian, reclining in his bath. Guishaun grabbed the decanter on a nearby gilded vanity table.
“No,” Guishaun replied, refilling his glass. “He’s right about my inexperience in government. After my brother, with all that my uncle will have done in his name, Parliament will want stability, someone it can rely on.”
“Start politicking. Your uncle surely has enemies in Parliament.”
“Yes, but he’s better at this than I am, damn him. And he’s had more time. No one is going to cross him now unless they know that I will win.”
“So, what’s the difference for you in crossing him now?” Dorian asked, slowly rotating his neck as steam continued to rise from the water.
“Through my brother, my uncle will consolidate his power. With Derrick still gone, and Sukain still controlling the government, now he is at his weakest.”
“Sukain may not be around much longer. This feud between the Consortium and Brotherhood is growing bloodier. Some expect an all-out war.”
“That’s why time is so much against us.”
“Well, since you say that Derrick is already dead, what’s left? What can you do? If you try to campaign for the throne over your brother, Jordan’s marketing henchmen would go into a frenzy. You have to wait your turn.”
“Then there’s only one way,” Guishaun whispered, his gaze following the tendrils of vapor from the bath.
“Personally, I’d take advantage of your freedom,” Dorian said, lifting a leg out of the water and looking at his foot. “Take what money you can from your father’s estate, and run. There’s any number of planets you could go.”
“For years I couldn’t escape from my father’s castle. Do you think my uncle would allow me and Varian to escape the planet?”
“You could leave him,” Dorian suggested. “It is possible he could be happy here, with other family looking after him. As happy as he can be, anyway.”
“You know my uncle would make him a performing ape, caged in a living hell. I can’t abandon him to that. Besides, my uncle would surely win that way.”
“You said he’ll win anyway. This way, at least you will be free.”
“He won’t let me go even if I signed that renunciation. It would be too easy to claim that I signed it under duress. I would thus always be a threat. He would come after me wherever I went. Only then he would have the power of the throne of Legan, and I would be a nobody.”
“I don’t see any other way,” Dorian said, motioning Guishaun for a towel. “One shot is better than no shot.” Guishaun held up a towel for his friend.
“I agree,” Guishaun said solemnly as Dorian got out of the water.
- - -
“Courell.” The word echoed in the darkness, amplified with a forbidding resonance. Though he recognized his father’s voice, Valmont was reassured. He had no idea how long his awareness had floated in nothingness, but his father had come back. Yes, he admitted, it could be another trick, but for now he would accept his father’s return as real. For now, it would cost him little to be wrong.
“Yes?” Valmont replied with his thoughts.
“Are you ready to come out from the Dark? Are you ready to come home?”
In his mind, Valmont saw a single hand reach out as if from behind a curtain, beckoning him, offering to pull him back into the light. “Is that your price for my freedom?” he asked. The hand froze.
“Price?” The voice was harsher than before. “I offer you salvation.”
“I only want the freedom you wrongfully took from me. Nothing more.”
The hand withdrew. “What comfort is pride when damnation is its cost?”
“What good is salvation if you no longer recognize who you are?”
“I could leave you here, slowly to dissemble into madness, and finally death.”
“I have no doubt that you can murder me, Father, if that is your wish.”
“Then why do you defy me?”
“Because if I am to live, I will live on my own terms, not yours.”
“I think not.”
Valmont’s senses returned in a disorientating rush of sight, sound, taste and touch. He was standing in a volcanic underground cavern, sweating in a heat that robbed him of strength, and choking in a smoke that stung his eyes and clung to the inside of his mouth. Fire was everywhere, feeding on the very rock. In the distance, lava flowed into an oily lake, creating acidic steam that rolled up to eat away at the ever-crumbling ceiling.
“You forget the devils, Father. Fiends of the pit.”
“They are here, Courell,” his father answered. “But think of them not as fiends, but as purifiers.” Courell saw four shadows drift up from the floor, their black forms indistinct and ever changing. Valmont instinctively raised his mental shields, glad that his psychic abilities once again responded to his will. He would not be taken without a fight.
“How do you expect them to purify me?” Valmont asked.
“First they will break your mental defenses.” One of the wraiths swiped its arm against Valmont’s mental shield. The blow brought him to his knees. “Then enter your thoughts.” Another wraith made a passing attack. Valmont was ready this time, but still grunted with the effort to defend himself. “And go deep into your mind. And there, with you but a compliant witness to it all, they will purge you of sin.” Two wraiths assaulted him together, one seizing hold of his psychic shield before Valmont could throw off its clawed grip. The pain felt like metal talons gouging their way across his skull. “For every sin you have ever committed, there will be atonement. And finally, in complete forgiveness, the very memory of them will be wiped away. You will be cleansed.”
“No! I will
no longer be me!” All four wraiths closed in on Valmont at once.
“That is correct, Courell,” his father replied. “You will be reborn.”
-
“Let me know when his atonement is complete,” Wyren said to another man as he stood from his chair. Through a transparent barrier, Wyren could still see his son on his knees, his eyes open as he tried to strike at noncorporeal foes. The four initiates controlling Valmont’s sensations stood at the four corners of the room in concentration, all at a safe distance.
“Yes, Bishop,” the man replied. “We will not commence the purging of his memory until you return.” Wyren was barely out the door when another temple worker came forward.
“Bishop, Colonel Steuben has requested to speak with you.”
“He is here?” Wyren did not break his stride.
“No, Bishop. And his communication’s routing makes it untraceable.”
“I see. The Colonel knows he has reason to fear me. Good. Perhaps now he wishes to come out of the cold. The next time he makes contact, put him through directly to me.”
- - -
“I have no words, Lord Guishaun,” Sukain said, leaning back in her chair.
Guishaun had noticed that the First Advisor’s office had become cluttered since the last time he was there. Sukain looked older too, an Iron Lady that had reached her zenith, and whose strength now faded. He wondered if she thought that Derrick was even still alive.
“Could my uncle really force my brother on the throne?”
“Sadly, Lord Varian’s mental state prevents any refusal by him from being effective. It is ironic. Legal incapacity is meant to shield an incompetent from certain harms that may otherwise result from his actions. Your uncle is using it as a sword, trapping your brother into a position he does not want.”
“So there’s nothing my brother can do?”
“No. And even if you were made his guardian, no court would give you the authority to speak for him on a matter such as this. More, the political reality cannot be ignored: What is the law today may not be the law tomorrow.”
“Meaning if Parliament wants Varian on the throne, no legal impediment could stop it.”
“Except Imperial Law, but I know of no such impediment.” Sukain sat up and regarded Guishaun kindly. “I’m sorry for bringing you both into all this.”
“I came willingly at least,” Guishaun admitted. “Varian, well...”
“It seemed a good strategy at the time. I just underestimated your uncle. I should have known he would find a way to take power regardless.”
“How soon before the Consortium and DuCideons are in open war?” he whispered. “I hear the fighting is already serious.”
“More serious than is commonly known. I have sent unofficial negotiators, but they know I cannot stop them, and that I will soon be removed from office. Once that happens, I fear the conflict will grow beyond our ability to contain.”
“And that can happen at any time.”
“Any time,” Sukain affirmed.
- - -
Steuben verified the continued functioning of his com-router as he waited for the NDB bishop to come on-line. With NDB Church Security, HOPIS, and even Lilth Morays after him, Steuben knew that he had the weaker bargaining position. But maybe what he had to offer would be enough. Perhaps the prize he was now willing trade would at least buy his life.
“Colonel Steuben,” Wyren said, his face darkened on Steuben’s viewscreen.
“Bishop Wyren. I come to you on a matter touching your son.”
“I have more than one son, Colonel.”
“Courell is missing. Certain mutual associations want me to find him.”
“And they sent you to me? It must be serious. As you might imagine, Courell and I have some very divergent views. Long has there been a gulf between us. I would be among the last of those with whom he would confide his whereabouts.”
“Pity,” Steuben said slowly. “So, you cannot even guess where he may be? I know that your wife has found him on more than one occasion.”
“You are a busy man, Colonel, as am I. We have little use for mere guesses. As for my wife, if she knew where he was, do you really think that I would not?”
The bishop’s last evasion solidified it for Steuben. Wyren knew where his son was. He probably even had him in custody, along with any number of “rogue initiates” being held for questioning. Valmont must have done something significant recently for his father to act now.
“You have no concern then around your son’s disappearance?”
“I have no doubt my son will ultimately return to me. Call it faith, Colonel.”
So much for Valmont, Steuben thought, knowing he would get no further with Wyren on that front. Time to focus on his own future.
“I understand, Bishop. I will regret reporting my failure to his associates.”
“You are giving up your search for my son then?”
“For now. Only so I can resume my search for Lord Derrick.”
“There are rumors you found him in Quetana,” Wyren said evenly.
“There’re also rumors your Church Security has taken control of HOPIS.”
“That would be an exaggeration.”
“The rumors concerning me are equally afflicted.”
“But you know where he may be.” Wyren made it a statement, not a question.
“I know how to find him.”
The NDB bishop shifted in his seat. “And you do not trust our government forces with this information?”
“I’ve been given no reason to trust them.”
“We never wanted you dead, Colonel.”
“But Lilth Morays does, and Lord Jordan does her bidding.”
“Unfortunately, that is a matter over which we have little influence, though we privately applaud your actions that made it so.”
“Then my only hope is with Lord Derrick.”
“You nurture a very small hope in that. Even if Lord Derrick is returned, Lilth Morays will seek revenge.”
“So I have to get off-planet, and hide for the rest of my life.”
“Or you could give Lord Derrick to us. We will not only get you off-planet, we will give you a new identity, and the means to support yourself.”
“And what will you do with Lord Derrick?”
“Is that truly your primary concern here?”
“You mean to kill him?” As soon as he said it, Steuben knew it was true. Derrick was now too great a liability. More, Derrick would still never permit them to continue DuCideon operations on Legan, even out of gratitude for a supposed “NDB” rescue. They wanted Jordan, and Steuben cursed himself for expecting that it might be otherwise.
“Really Colonel, I had no idea your opinion of us was so low as to accuse us of regicide. I would promise you that we would never harm Lord Derrick, but somehow I now feel that you would not believe me.”
“Try me,” Steuben whispered, rethinking all his plans and assumptions. He was a dead man without Derrick, and Derrick was a dead man without him.
“I do not engage in fruitless exercises. Still, if an arrangement could be—”
At that moment, the city of Carran rumbled with explosions from every sector. By air, land and even sea, enemy forces had launched a surprise attack that instantly neutralized all the local police and civil defense installations.
With all transmission-based communications jammed, Steuben did not bother finding out what was happening beyond what his own senses told him. He had heard the first explosions only in the distance. The fourth he heard leveled a building less than a city-block away. Dodging for cover, he saw countless hover-vehicles raking the city as they passed with both lasgun fire and conventional detonators. Although he could not know for certain, something told him that this was a simple raid. Someone intended for Carran to be scourged into an open pit.
As buildings continued to be destroyed, screaming people ran in confusion from one hopeful sanctuary to another. Steuben worked his way to the garag
e housing his vehicle. It had shields, and enough power to outrun most of those he saw in the air. So long as the city’s attackers were unconcerned by small fleeing vehicles, he could well escape. But then another wave of aerial craft strafed the ground, targeting street-bound vehicles and reducing them to smoking ruins.
Clearly the attackers did not want anyone leaving. As if to confirm their intentions, one hover-vehicle fired an explosive charge into the building Steuben was trying to reach. Its midsection gutted in a fiery blast, Steuben looked on as the top section crashed onto the lower floors, bringing the entire building down in a cascade of destruction that sent clouds of debris scattering in all directions.
His vehicle gone, Steuben was now trapped.
- - -
Helena Wyren watched as her husband issued orders and monitored the attack on their city. Although it had no military significance, the NDB Church had fortified its planetary capital as if it were Pablen itself. Though key structures such as the Temple Complex shook under the incessant onslaught, their defensive shields were holding. Once-hidden strategic batteries, and Church Security troops, were also engaging in counter-offensives. They were secure, but seeing their forces being met with equal strength, it made her wonder how well the enemy knew their capabilities, and where they had obtained their information.
“Has Pablen replied to our request for aid?” Wyren asked, wincing as he saw the last of Carran’s docking facilities being destroyed, along with several birthed merchant ships.
“Government forces are on their way, Bishop, but their orders are unclear.”
“Why? Do they not understand what is happening here?”
Another explosion shook the Temple Complex. Helena remained still, trusting that the building’s shields would hold, and knowing that if they did not, nothing would save her anyway.
“The Consortium forces are attacking under the banner of House Ketrick. Lord Ketrick has claimed the right of retribution. Something to do with a ‘vendetta’ between him and us.”
“Absurd. The True Church is not subject to the laws of house warfare.”
“They—”
A thunderous crash rumbled to the very foundations of the Temple Complex, a wholly different and more ominous sound than a mere explosion.
Blood of Jackals (Lords of Legan Book 2) Page 26