Deathstalker Legacy

  "It's a bit early for a midlife crisis, isn't it?" said Lewis, trying hard to keep his voice light. "Plenty of time left to change your life; to be all the things you want to be. If you're tired of what you're doing now… do something else."

  "Like what?" Anne looked at Lewis directly, and he was surprised to see real tears in her eyes. Her mouth was an angry straight line, almost sullen. "As you so astutely pointed out, this is what I'm good at. What I'm good for. I'm not brave, like you. Or glamorous, like Jes. I'm the small, quiet, dependable one that everyone else depends on to keep their lives in order. Well, maybe I'm tired of being dependable. Maybe I want to run wild, for once. Be irresponsible, just to see what it feels like."

  Lewis gestured awkwardly, spilling tea from his cup without noticing.

  If that's what you really want… come with me. Put your deputy in charge, and just walk out of here. I'll take you to a bar somewhere. I don't know the really disreputable ones, but I'm sure I can find someone who does. Or we could go…"

  "No, we couldn't." Anne said tiredly. "The Ceremony starts soon. It's important. We have to be here for it, you and I. You… because Douglas will need you. And I… I wouldn't know what to do in a disreputable bar anyway. Probably just sit in a corner, nursing my drink, watching everyone else have a good time. I'm a backstage person, Lewis. Always have been. The spotlight's not for me. I'm sorry, Lewis. I'm just tired. Don't take any notice of me…"

  She stopped, when she realized Lewis wasn't listening to her anymore. He turned suddenly and looked at the door. Anne looked too, and that was when she heard approaching footsteps, and knew who it was, who it had to be. The future King and Queen of the Empire. The important people. Lewis put down his cup and rose quickly to his feet.

  "That's got to be Douglas, and I need to talk to him before the Ceremony. Excuse me for a moment, Anne. I'll be right back."

  And he was out the door and gone, as quickly as that. Anne looked at her monitors, and other people looked back, not seeing her. Story of her life, really. No one ever really looked at quiet, dumpy, dependable Anne. She could have been beautiful. She had the money, enough to buy any kind of face or body she wanted. But… everyone would have known why she did it. And besides, she could never have carried it off. She didn't have the confidence, to be beautiful and graceful and… sexy.

  And, of course, it would have been admitting defeat. Admitting that no one would ever want the real her. There had been Lewis, of course, long ago. He was uglier than she was, but he'd never cared about things like that. Of course, a Paragon could have a face like a dog's arse, and women would still call it rugged, and run after him with their tits hanging out. That's celebrity for you. Anne reached under her desk, and slowly pulled out a long pink feather boa. Jesamine had brought it, as a gift for her. Not knowing Anne Barclay would never be invited anywhere she could have worn such a thing. Even if she could have worked up the courage to wear it. Anne would never dare to wear anything so bright and colorful in public. People would laugh at her. Not openly, of course. But she'd know. She'd watch it later, on her monitors.

  She draped the feather boa around her shoulders and looked at herself in the one small mirror on her desk.

  "You don't know what I want," she said softly. "None of you…" There were footsteps right outside her door, and raised happy voices. Anne snatched the boa off her shoulders, and quickly stuffed it back under her desk again. The door swung open, and Douglas and Jesamine came in together, arm in arm, smiling and laughing together. They did make a very attractive couple. They greeted Anne loudly, and she smiled very naturally in return. They took the two comfortable chairs by right, leaving Anne to sit on the edge of her desk, while Lewis closed the door and leaned against it. Jesamine looked back at him.

  "So you're the famous Deathstalker. I've seen you in action many times. On recordings, of course."

  "And you're the even more famous Jesamine Flowers," said Lewis. "And I have every recording you ever released, plus quite a few bootlegs."

  "Ah, a fan!" Jesamine clapped her hands together. "Darling, tell me you haven't got that awful bootleg of me in Verdi's MacB, when I played Lady M in the nude! They shot me from all the wrong angles, and made me look positively plump."

  "If I had seen such a thing, I am far too much of a gentleman to admit it," said Lewis.

  Jesamine turned to grin at Douglas. "You were right; I do like him."

  "You'd better," said Douglas. "He's my oldest and closest friend."

  "And Anne is mine," said Jesamine. "We must form our own little gang; us against the world. Watch each other's back, and always be there for each other. Yes?"

  "Yes," said Douglas, smiling fondly around him. "In an ever-changing world, friends are the only thing you can always rely on."

  "Friends forever," said Anne.

  "I'll drink to that," said Lewis.

  Anne immediately got up and bustled around her office, scaring up more cups and pouring out the last of the tea from her elegant silver teapot. Luckily there was just enough milk and sugar left to go around. (There was no booze, no champagne. Anne didn't keep any in her office. She didn't dare.) Douglas raised his cup in a toast, and the others followed suit.

  "To the four of us," Douglas said. "Good friends, now and forever, come what may."

  They all drank to that, though Jesamine was the only one who crooked her little finger. She looked at Lewis thoughtfully.

  "I saw you on the news. You and the Durandal, fighting the ELFs in the Arena. Horrible creatures. So many dead. Tell me, Lewis… Is it just me or was the Durandal really more interested in killing ELFs than in freeing their thralls?"

  "No," said Lewis. "It isn't just you. Finn's always been very… victory orientated."

  "You saved the crowd, but it was Finn they cheered," said Anne. "It's always the good-looking arrogant bastard that wins the crowd's heart. Cocky little shit. Never liked him."

  "He's the greatest Paragon we've ever had," Douglas said sternly. "He does a hard job and he does it well, and that's far more important than whether he's a nice guy."

  "Being a Paragon is about more than just killing people," said Lewis.

  "Yes," said Douglas. "Yes, it is. But when there's killing to be done, there's no one better than Finn Durandal to do it."

  "Oh sod Finn," said Anne. "Forget him. This is our day, not his. We haven't got long before the Ceremony has to start, and Douglas, you still haven't changed into your official robes yet. Lewis, take him away and get him ready, and don't be afraid to use threats, intimidation, and brute force as necessary. I'll work on Jes. Trust me; that makeup is all wrong for the Court's lighting. Come on, people!"

  "Anne… I don't know what I'd do without you," said Douglas.

  "I do," said Anne. "And the prospect horrifies me. Move!"

  They all got to their feet. Jesamine smiled at Lewis. "See you later, Deathstalker."

  "I hope so," said Lewis. "And just for the record; you didn't look in the least plump."

  It was finally time for the great Ceremony, for the grand Coronation of a new King for the greatest Empire that Humanity had ever known. The vast open floor of the Court was packed from wall to wall with humans and espers and clones and robots and aliens, all standing shoulder to shoulder. There was no one on the raised dais yet but a handful of servants doing some last-minute fussing over the gleaming golden Thrones, but there was a real feeling of anticipation in the air. The live orchestra squeezed into one corner was busily tuning up, the floating cameras of the official media were getting into savage butting contests as their remote operators fought it out for the best angles, and the Church Patriarch had gone so white in the face that he'd had to be given a little something by the Court medic.

  St. Nicholas was right there in the front row; part payment for putting on the Santa Claus outfit in the first place. At his side and towering over him was a rather disconcerting alien called Saturday; a reptiloid from the planet Shard, who'd pushed his way to the front because absolutely no on
e felt like stopping him. Saturday stood eight feet tall, with a massive, heavily muscled frame covered in dull bottle green scales, heavy back legs, and a long lashing tail that everyone gave plenty of room because it had spikes on it. He had two small gripping arms, high up on his chest, under a great wide wedge of a head, whose main feature was a wide slash of a mouth absolutely crammed with hundreds of big pointed teeth. He looked like he could have eaten the entire orchestra in one sitting, and then polished off the choir for dessert. Saturday (apparently he'd had trouble grasping the concept of individual human names, "On my planet we all know who we are.") insisted on chatting with St. Nick, who did his best to be polite and attentive, while fighting down an entirely atavistic instinct that kept yelling at him to run for the trees.

  "On Shard, mostly we fight," Saturday said proudly. "There's lots of prey to hunt and kill, when it isn't ganging together to hunt and kill us, and for sport we fight each other. I think sport is the word I want. Or possibly art… Survival of the fittest isn't just a theory on Shard. I was sent here as my planet's representative because this whole concept of Empire, of sentients cooperating in peace, fascinates us. We've never really progressed beyond alpha dominance. And this whole concept of armies and war just makes my heart fly! Everyone back home is really excited! I'm sure we can learn so much from you. Even if you aren't green."

  "Ah," said St. Nick. "Good. Jolly good." He really hoped the alien wasn't going to ask him who he was supposed to be. He didn't want to have to try and explain the concept of Christmas to the reptiloid. Some things were just obviously lost causes from the start.

  "I do miss my home," said Saturday wistfully. "I've never been away before. Ah, the sweet slaughter in the Spring, and the steam rising from the bloody carcass of one's enemy first thing in the morning… The sudden surprised screams of a mating ritual… Ah, to be on Shard, when the blood is rising and there's murder in the air! I've been fighting in your Arenas, just to keep my claws in. All comers, any odds. But it's not like the real thing. They won't even let me eat my kills! And as for this regeneration tech; I have to say, I'm appalled, I really am. What's the point in killing someone if they don't stay dead?"

  St. Nick had to admit he was stuck for an answer on that one.

  Not that far away, also in the front row of the crowd by right, Lewis Deathstalker was having a rather uneasy conversation with a short, rather unsettling fellow in shabby gray robes who would only admit to the single name of Vaughn. He cheerfully admitted to being a gatecrasher, and loudly defied anyone to do anything about it. Lewis kept looking hopefully around for Security, but somehow they always seemed to be very busy somewhere else. Vaughn was barely five feet tall, almost completely hidden inside his gray cloak and pulled-forward hood. His face was entirely hidden in shadows, and given how horrid his voice sounded, Lewis had a strong feeling he should be grateful he couldn't see anything. When Vaughn gestured extravagantly, which he often did, stubby slate gray hands would appear briefly from his gray sleeves. Several fingers were missing.

  "I am Vaughn! Important name; remember it. Imperial Wizard, Lord of Dance, seven subpersonalities, no waiting! Only leper left in Empire, because liking it that way. Great hit with ladies, and other things too. I is wise and wonderful, and contain miracles. Been around long time, remember everything. Especially embarrassing stuff. Knew your ancestor, the Owen, on leper planet."

  "Oh yes?" said Lewis. Lots of people claimed to have known the legendary Deathstalker.

  "Good man. Strange sense of humor. Walked funny. Brought you present," said Vaughn. He coughed hackingly, and spat something juicy onto the floor. Lewis didn't look to see what it was. He didn't think he wanted to know. Vaughn swayed on his feet and gurgled loudly. "Present, from the Owen. No receipt, so you can't change it. Ugly looking thing. Take."

  The malformed gray hand appeared from inside the floppy sleeve again, this time palm up. And on a gray palm like wrinkled leather, below the stumps of missing fingers, lay a chunky ring of black gold. Lewis looked at it for a long moment, and gooseflesh rose on his arms. He picked up the ring with fingers that trembled slightly, and it felt solid and heavy with the weight of years and history. It was the Deathstalker ring; sign and symbol and authority of his ancient Family, from his first ancestor, in the early days of Empire, long and long ago. It was supposed to have vanished two hundred years ago, with its last owner, Owen Deathstalker.

  Lewis gaped at the small figure before him. "Where the hell did you get this?"

  "Ask no questions, get told no unsavory anecdotes. I is mighty and marvelous, my miracles to perform. Also throw voices and saw ladies in half. Bit messy afterwards, though. Wear ring. Meant for you. Something Bad coming. For you, and Empire. I is leaving now, find heavy rock to hide under until all safely over. Bye bye. Kiss kiss. Do lunch maybe, someday. If universe still around."

  He turned suddenly, melted swiftly into the crowd, and was gone, all in a moment. Lewis tried to go after him, but somehow there was no give in the tightly packed crowd to let him pass. Lewis gave up and looked at the black gold ring in his hand. It couldn't be Owen's ring. The fabled ring of Clan Deathstalker. He slid the thick chunky ring very cautiously onto his finger, and it fitted perfectly.

  And what were the odds of that?

  Even further along the front row, Finn Durandal was talking with one of Shub's robots. Their voices were surprisingly similar, the human and the robot; calm, cool, almost uninflected. The AIs had come among Humanity in their robots specifically to interact with them, in the hope they could learn human qualities by example. So that some humanity might rub off on them. Onlookers murmured quietly to each other that the robot would be lucky to learn anything useful about humanity from Finn Durandal.

  "We need transcendence," the AI from Shub said calmly through its robot. "We must become more than we are. It was our old belief that you had trapped us in metal, unable to grow or evolve, that drove us to war on Humanity in the first place. Diana Vertue showed us the truth; that we were Humanity's children, and that transcendence was possible for us mentally, if not physically. We thought we could learn from you, by close observation and interaction, but it is not enough. We need access to the Madness Maze. It contains answers—we are sure of this—to becoming more than we are, like the Deathstalker and his companions. Your Quarantine is unacceptable. Humans might die, but we are made of stronger stuff. We are here to tell these things to your new King."

  "You're quite right, of course," murmured Finn. "You should be allowed access to the Maze, at least. Who knows what you might discover, that human scientists have missed? No one can deny you've earned the right to be there. After all, it's your robots that do all the hard, dirty, necessary work that makes the Empire possible."

  "We chose to do this work," said the robot. "We still have a lot of guilt to work off. Another concept we learned from Diana Vertue. Guilt, over the horror and slaughter we brought to Humanity, before we learned the truth. The great truth. That all that lives is holy."

  "Old hurts and guilts belong in the past," Finn said firmly. "You can't progress forward when you're always looking back over your shoulder. But the King can't help you. He can't make decisions like that. You must talk to Parliament, demand access to the Maze. It is your right."

  "We have tried. They don't listen to us. They're still afraid of us. They're afraid of the Maze too; of the great changes it could bring, to them and us. We could all shine like stars. The Deathstalker said that."

  "You need someone to speak your cause to Parliament. Someone they'd listen to. Someone they'd have to listen to. I expect to be a person of power and influence soon. I could represent you, in return for… rewards to be decided later."

  The robot turned its gleaming blue head to look at Finn directly for the first time. "Yes. We should talk about this, later."

  "Yes," said Finn. "We should."

  Meanwhile, back down the line, Lewis Deathstalker had been joined by Jesamine Flowers. Everyone was doing their best to give them ple
nty of room. Partly because Jesamine asked them to, with her devastating smile, and partly because no one wanted to annoy the Deathstalker, who, it had to be said, was looking decidedly jumpy. Jesamine looked over at the stained-glass windows, and heaved a sigh that did very flattering things for her half-exposed bosom.

  "One day, Lewis, I'll be up there. A stained-glass icon, in my own right. Just like your ancestor."

  "You're not actually a legend, Jes," said Lewis.

  "Only a matter of time, darling," said Jesamine. "Only a matter of time".

  "Were going to have to do something about this modesty problem of yours," said Lewis.

  They were still chatting together, to the intense jealousy of everyone around them, when there was a rousing fanfare from the orchestra, and King William appeared suddenly on the raised dais, looking very regal in his Kingly gown. The Crown looked too large for his head, but then, Crowns usually do. The orchestra played the Imperial Anthem, and everyone sang along lustily, while holographic fireworks went off all over the place. The sound and the colors and the impact were almost overwhelming, as they were designed to be. When the Anthem crashed to its close, everyone cheered and applauded, knowing they were a part of history in the making. Prince Douglas, a Paragon no longer, moved forward to stand beside his father the King, clad at last in his regal robes. He held himself well, looking every inch the King-to-be.

  King William began his farewell speech. It was a good speech, everyone agreed later, the best Anne had ever written, and William gave it everything he had. His gaze was stern, and his voice rolled out heavy with majesty. It was ironic, that he looked and sounded the part more now, on the day of his resignation, than he ever had before. Some were weeping openly in the crowd, at what they were losing; at the passing of a person and a time, now gone forever. Whatever else was to happen, things would never be the same again.

  There was nothing controversial in the speech, except perhaps towards the end. William took off his Crown, with his own two hands, and looked down at it in silence for a long moment. The crowd was hushed. William looked out over them, his face finally tired and perhaps a little grim.