Blood of Jackals (Lords of Legan Book 2)

by Todd Marcelas Moreno

  “Lerrero?” she asked, stretching her muscles out from their lethargy. “What are you… is this a rescue?”

  “Yes, First Advisor,” the guard commander replied, smiling as he helped Sukain to her feet. “Lord Derrick has reportedly returned. And he will need you.”

  - - -

  Jordan stood in the main hangar of Pablen Palace, waiting with a group of dignitaries for Derrick’s arrival. His surprisingly resilient cousiné had not even come back, yet his presence was already being felt, mainly in the area of security.

  With the influx of habited members of the Miran Church’s various Holy Orders, Pablen looked on the verge of becoming a monastery. And these sanctified invaders had been damnably efficient in securing control in a very short period. While not suffering the indignity of being turned out of his office, even the Lord Chamberlain found himself answerable to a certain Patér Orqué, a man who had only yesterday been a mere consultant for the Palace Guard. Such was the power of the initiates of the Holy Orders, who all had special training in secret mental disciplines, techniques that not only gave them great psychic strength, but also enabled them to use hidden abilities which most people never knew existed.

  Jordan refused to appear troubled however. He would outlast the boy-king, and make himself master of Legan once more. With his people still holding key government positions, and his influence in Parliament still strong, he had every reason to convey confidence. Anything less would only invite defection.

  "Lord Jordan?" a woman called to him, stepping from the small group of men.

  "Yes?" Jordan said, allowing his thoughts to be interrupted as he turned toward the woman's pleasant voice with a smile. Save for her expensive jewelry, the woman was quite unremarkable in appearance. Some people might have considered her homely. His smile faded.

  "My lord, I have a problem, which these gentlemen suggested I see you over."

  "How might I be of help?" Jordan's eyed the men in question, wondering how much the woman had paid for access. Such greed for them to play that game right now, he thought. He would demand a share of the money from them later.

  "It concerns my sister, Rachel, a lady-in-waiting to the Countess-Grandia."

  Jordan rolled his eyes. Another fool family member with questions for which the answers would never be given, for reasons that should be obvious to a child.

  "My sister died two years ago," the woman went on, ignoring his reaction, "two weeks after the Countess-Grandia, and we still have no information."

  "I suggest you talk to someone in HOPIS," Jordan said, catching sight of a shuttle on approach. "Security investigations are not my—"

  "My Lord," the woman said urgently, reaching to take his arm before stopping herself, "no one is providing us with any answers. Given my sister's position within the Noble Household, I thought the Noble House would—"

  "I will pass your request to HOPIS," Jordan assured her, signaling a nearby HOPIS agent. The agent nodded in acknowledgement, but clearly knew that it was only for show. Just as the woman knew that she was being handed off again.

  "But my Lord," the woman said, blinking back tears. "I have exhausted every channel I know. I have spoken to everyone—"

  Jordan turned to the expected shuttle, which was now inside the hangar.

  "Please, my Lord," the woman cried, grabbing Jordan’s hand as she bent down upon her knees. "I have nowhere else to turn. I beg—"

  "Mind yourself, Woman!" Jordan said crossly, pulling his hand free from her grip with such force that she fell over. From the corner of his eye, he saw two of the regular Palace guards ready their weapons. The woman saw them as well, and remained motionless. Confident that the woman again knew her place, Jordan turned away. "Now leave,” he said. “For you will have nothing more from me."

  While the guards replaced their weapons returned to attention, the woman stayed on the floor. Alone amongst the crowd, she brought her hands to her lap, unmindful of her trembling lower lip as her eyes shimmered with reflected light.

  “Dear Lady,” said Derrick, removing the hood of his black robe as he stepped forward from what had looked like a new security team. He helped her up as Jordan looked back to the weathered, old shuttle Derrick had used. “Be assured that you will have all the answers my government can provide.” The woman smiled gratefully and hurriedly curtsied.

  “You,” Derrick called, pointing to the HOPIS agent Jordan had signaled earlier. The man stood at attention. “See to this inquiry personally. I too wish to know the circumstances around the death of one who served my mother, and expect a report.” The agent acknowledged the order with a bow. “Cousiné,” Derrick said, turning next to Jordan, “it seems that I have returned just in time, if the strain of government could make you so short with this unfortunate lady.”

  Jordan hide his anger with a bow. “We are all grateful for your return, my Lord,” he managed in an appropriate tone. “But have you joined Holy Orders?”

  Derrick laughed. “The disguise and shuttle decoy were Colonel Steuben’s idea.” One of the robed figures with Derrick removed his hood and smiled.

  “A wise precaution, Colonel,” said Jordan, wondering if the embarrassing playlet with the unhealthily inquisitive woman was Steuben’s idea as well.

  “I thought that Cousiné Lilth was here at the Palace with you, Jordan,” Derrick began again. “Why is she not here to greet me?”

  “The recent death of our nephew Guishaun, so soon after her son Curin’s death, has proven too much for her. She mourns at Crucidel.”

  “Yes, I was sorry to hear of all the recent deaths,” said Derrick. “That must be why Pablen looks less than celebratory at my return, Lord Chamberlain.”

  “As joyful as your return is, Sire,” Chamberlain Hansodian said with a bow, “I thought it best to strike a balance between our jubilance and our sorrow.”

  “Which meant doing nothing at all,” Derrick quipped before waving the now offended man to silence. “Be at peace, Lord Chamberlain. You have acted correctly. Colonel Steuben, have you received word yet of First Advisor Sukain?”

  “None, Sire,” Steuben replied, touching the com-piece in his ear.

  “Cousiné Jordan, what do you know of my First Advisor?”

  “She has escaped custody,” said Jordan, deciding not to lie, and wishing his execution order had been issued sooner.

  “She escaped? From both you and Cousiné Lilth? Remarkable.”

  “The guards responsible have been punished, my Lord.”

  “Pity. Let those of them who wish to return to duty, do so. Depending on what happened here, they may well be in line for promotion.”

  Jordan smiled and bowed again, knowing those responsible would still die.

  “My Lord,” Steuben interrupted, pointing to three approaching figures.

  Derrick recognized Guard Commander Lerrero, but focused his attention on Carol Sukain. “First Advisor Sukain!” he called.

  Jordan whipped his head around in disbelief. This day was getting worse.

  “My Lord,” Sukain said, clearly weak, though with a slight but steady bow.

  “I am so pleased to see you,” Derrick went on. “I feared for you.”

  “Thank you, my Lord. The patér here,” she indicated the man to her left, who had come with her and Lerrero, “has been most helpful in bringing me back to my fighting strength.”

  Derrick smiled. “But are you well enough to resume your duties?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Excellent. Then summon my other advisors and senior counselors. I wish to meet with them in three hours’ time.”

  “My Lord,” Sukain said hesitantly. “Please forgive me. I am a bit uncertain as to who are counted among that group at present.”

  Derrick took her meaning. The current advisors likely differed from those he had installed. Should they be dismissed, and the previous ones reappointed? If not, should his old advisors attend the meeting anyway? And if that were so, what status would they hold? “First Advis
or Sukain, I hereby grant you the title of Lady Chancellor. In that capacity, you will select those former advisors and senior counselors you would suggest that I consider for reappointment, and have them join us at this meeting, each with the title of Department Secretary to my Privy Council. I also leave it to you to name the appropriate department for each.”

  “As you wish, my Lord.” Sukain did not bother to hide her smile.

  “In three hours’ time then,” Derrick said, smiling at Jordan before leaving.

  Jordan bowed to Derrick’s back, as did everyone who did not accompany him. His face a mask, the former Lord Regent railed inside. Derrick obviously had at least some of his memories, damn him, and would soon set himself to undo all his work. And now all he had was three hours for his people to cover their tracks, and set down new ones.

  - - -

  Derrick looked at his advisors sitting around the long conference table. In them he could see an array of emotion. Fear. Amusement. Suspicion. Hope. Worry. Disregard. But even in those he would have counted as supporters, one thing was missing: Confidence.

  Either they have doubts I am ready to rule, Derrick thought, or doubts I will last long enough against Jordan and Lilth for it to matter. The latter feeling was what Derrick suspected had really kept away some of the people Sukain had contacted. He could not blame them fearing for their lives, which declaring for Derrick would likely jeopardize. But having failed him at this crucial time, those who had not answered his summons would not be called to his side again.

  Catching his cousiné’s eye, Derrick returned Jordan’s nod, if not his smile. He hated engaging in this charade, but to avoid destabilizing the government, Derrick had to wait until Sukain regained full bureaucratic control. He also needed proof of the former Lord Regent’s treason for his supporters in Parliament. But there was one way he could further weaken Jordan’s position immediately.

  “This turf war between the Consortium and the NDB’s DuCideons has been tolerated for too long,” Derrick said. A few new advisors straightened in their chairs, but said nothing. Derrick marked them for reassignment. Ridding himself of his cousiné’s people would take time, but he had to start somewhere. Glancing at Sukain, he saw the older woman nod. She was watching the group as well. “How accurate are the figures for our losses so far in this ‘war’?” Derrick asked.

  “They were revised today, my Lord,” one of the advisors replied.

  “Very well,” said Derrick. “Colonel?” Steuben stepped forward with a portascreen in his hand. “Colonel Steuben is sending each of you a document detailing the known holdings of the Consortium and the DuCideon Brotherhood.”

  The advisors all looked to their portascreens. “My Lord,” another one began, his eyes wide as he guessed at Derrick’s intentions, “do you have evidence—?”

  “We have enough proof to confiscate it all,” Derrick declared, silently thanking Patér Rector Warek for providing it, “and enough to discourage any legal challenges by either the Consortium or the DuCideons.”

  “If we do this, my Lord,” a third advisor said, “we will invite them to attack us. So far they have been attacking only each other.”

  “That is not quite true,” Derrick replied, signaling Steuben.

  “Legan has more than two criminal gangs,” Steuben began.

  “Colonel,” said one of the advisors marked for removal, “may I remind you that the DuCideons are a respected philanthropic fraternal organization—”

  “While the Consortium and NDB Brotherhood have convinced many that this war is strictly between themselves,” Steuben went on, staring the advisor to silence, “this territorial conflict has also involved minor players. By design or not, it is the lesser crime families being brought down. Even eradicated. Much of the Consortium and Brotherhood withholdings are – for now – still intact.”

  “Will you take everything from the Consortium and the Brotherhood, my Lord?” asked an advisor, staring as if Derrick had ordered the deaths of everyone.

  “No. I will fine them in an amount to cover all losses. We will retain amounts otherwise due to minor crime outfits, of course, and the New Dawn Believer Church will have to rebuild the City of Carran itself, as the price for associating with the Brotherhood. The Consortium and Brotherhood will then have nine months to liquidate any remaining planetary holdings, before being expelled.”

  The advisors sat in stillness, some clearly stunned. In the political world of wink-and-nod, where everyone knows the truth but is not so gross as to say it, Derrick’s declarations were shockingly impolitic. In government, a man who always tells the truth is a fool. A man who always acts on the truth is dangerous.

  Only then did Derrick look at Jordan, taking satisfaction from his cousiné’s forced expression of dispassion, along with the new set of looks from some of the advisors who were now realizing that they had underestimated him. Save for Sukain and one or two others however, signs of confidence remained elusive.

  “Give the Consortium and Brotherhood the word,” Derrick said finally, turning to Sukain. “All violence should end now, or each of their fines will increase to match the losses. They have three days to accept or reject this offer.”

  “And if they reject it, m’Lord?” a formerly silent advisor asked.

  “If either one rejects it, I will confiscate everything from both, and trade what information we have on their illegal off-world operations with the Imperial Justice Minister, in exchange for reducing our own fines from my father’s trial.”

  Several advisors looked at Derrick as if he were a madman.

  “That is all,” Derrick said, waving his hand in dismissal.

  The advisors and other attendees left without comment. Only Sukain and Steuben remained. “What do you think?” Derrick asked once they were alone.

  “Some are afraid you will fall, some are afraid you won’t,” Steuben answered. “The rest just wonder how soon.”

  “Are we ready for this?” Derrick breathed, knowing it was too late to go back.

  “Delay would only give Lord Jordan the chance to further new plans,” Sukain replied. “But you will have what you wanted, my Lord. Soon this will end, one way or another.”

  - - -

  Courell Valmont had been in gentlemen’s clubs before, from the most upscale, to ones where every breath carried the risk of contagion. Anios Tenatte’s establishment was amongst the latter and, given his unquestionable wealth, it was surprising. True, renovations were taking place, particularly to one outer wall, but why sit in a leaky septic tank when lounging in a palace was just as easy?

  A waitress wearing only a sheer billowy robe offered him a drink. He declined, but had to admit that Tenatte did not skimp on the quality of his help.

  “Ah, Valmont,” Tenatte called from a seat beside the main stage, which was also being worked on by a technical crew. “Come. I’d like you to meet someone.”

  As Valmont came forward, he saw a new gorgeous woman at Tenatte’s side.

  “Courell Valmont,” Tenatte began, “may I present Smooth Passage. Smoo here is our featured star of the week.”

  “A pleasure, Madam,” Valmont said.

  “It sure can be,” she replied. Valmont smiled before turning back to Tenatte.

  “I just came to deliver the Assembly’s reply to your offer,” said Valmont.

  Tenatte slapped the woman on her bottom right cheek. She left without a word. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Valmont,” Tenatte remarked, watching the woman depart. “I interviewed Smoo for her job myself. I admit I wasn’t certain at first, but let me assure you, she is one hundred percent woman.”

  Forgetting himself, Valmont stared into Tenatte’s mechanical eyes. Tenatte smiled wide, showing his perfectly formed teeth, while deepening the depressions along both sides of his scarred face. The rebel leader suddenly wanted to leave.

  “The Assembly was ready to accept your proposal,” Valmont said, “except now with Lord Derrick’s return, the situation has changed.”
>
  “You mean that ultimatum of his? The kid won’t last a week once his special guards from the Miran Church return to their cloisters.”

  “Perhaps. But how long will Derrick’s safety be secured by them? We hear the Miran Church is planning to rotate other members of its Holy Orders into Derrick’s protective service. Catching him unguarded could be a long wait.”

  “Even your father, as an NDB bishop, has access to assassins who might do the job. That is, unless Wyren sees Derrick’s demand for a ceasefire as an opportunity to come out of his mountain hole and negotiate a settlement.”

  “My father would gladly liquidate the DuCideon holdings to pay fines—if his Church could still make a deal for refinancing House Possór’s Imperial fines.”

  “Leaving Jordan, from Derrick’s stated time table, nine months to depose his cousiné for good, before our continued presence on Legan becomes complicated.”

  “But not the Church’s continued presence. My father has only to wait you out, before you either have to leave Legan, or go deep underground.”

  “So does your Assembly expect things to go back to normal with the NDBs, with all of its funding arrangements restored?”

  “No. We are nothing but a bargaining chip to them now. Once the NDB Church strikes its final deal with House Possór, the Assembly will be cut loose. Or even given over to HOPIS.”

  “Well my offer involved your attacking government targets, not fighting the NDB. Are you saying that with Derrick, the Scourge of Galleston,” Valmont involuntarily winced at the name of city that saw the rebel movement’s greatest loss, “temporarily in charge instead of Jordan, the Assembly intends to put aside its social agenda for a while?”

  “The Assembly is willing to join you in attacks against the Possór government, but it is not willing to engage in any operations alone. We do not want to be the only one at risk.”