And it was his blade that drew first blood; a long thin cut just above Rose's right cheekbone. Blood ran down her pale skin, and her tongue darted out of the corner of her mouth to catch it. She laughed softly, and looked at Lewis with sick, loving eyes. Her scarlet smile was terribly wide now, her heart leaping in her chest as she stamped and thrust and parried. Rose Constantine knew she was very close to death now. And she couldn't have been happier. She fought back, calling on all her strength and speed and years of experience, and she dueled the Deathstalker to a standstill. They went head to head, grunting with the effort. The trained warrior and the gifted psychopath. The Champion and the Wild Rose. Masters of their art. Equally matched, equally skilled. One driven by a lust for murder, the other by a need for justice and revenge. They both stood their ground and would not be moved, their blades slamming together again and again, sparks flying on the air. And there was no way of telling which way it might have gone when Brett Random drew a concealed disrupter and shot Lewis in the side at point-blank range.
Even in the middle of the greatest swordfight of his life, Lewis's instincts were still good. He sensed as much as saw Brett draw his disrupter, and was already turning when the gun fired. The energy beam punched clean through his right side, and out his back, boring a burning hole right through ribs and stomach and kidney. The impact threw Lewis to the ground, his sword flying from suddenly weak fingers. He lay there, shaking and twitching, breathing hard, trying to draw his own gun from its holster, but his arm wouldn't obey him. He gritted his teeth against the awful pain, and forced his hand slowly towards his side, expecting Rose's death blow at any moment. But when he glanced across through pain-filled eyes, it was to see Rose send Brett sprawling with a vicious blow to the head. She stooped over him with her sword at his throat, screaming with rage.
"Mine! He was mine! Mine to kill!"
"It was orders, Rose! His orders!" Brett's voice was so high with fear it was almost hysterical. "He would have killed you! You were losing! I had my orders. Now cut his throat, and let's get the hell out of here."
Rose looked back at Lewis, who'd got his hand to his gun at last, and was trying to find the strength to draw it. She scowled. "I can't kill him. Not like this. He's the Deathstalker. I'm… I'm not a butcher."
Brett scrambled to his feet, keeping a safe distance between himself and the Wild Rose. "You have to do it, Rose. It's orders. His orders."
But still she hesitated, her eyes doubtful, considering a matter that was new and strange to her. When it was right to kill, and when it was not. In her own troubled way, Rose had always considered herself to be an honorable person. Not just a fighter, but a warrior. And for all her joy in the act of slaughter, there were still some things that were right, and some that were not. She couldn't kill the Deathstalker while he was helpless. If only because it wouldn't be fun anymore.
And while she was still hesitating, a huge dark figure loomed suddenly out of the shadows of a side alley. Brett called out sharply, and Rose's hand went immediately to the gun on her hip, but Saturday the reptiloid was upon her before she could draw it. He loomed over her, eight feet of gleaming green scales and muscles, showing all his pointed teeth in a wide terrible smile. He slapped her aside with one of his deceptively small forearms, and the force of the blow sent her flying a dozen feet down the street. She hit the ground hard, all the breath knocked out of her, but still she hung onto her sword. Brett was there beside her in a moment, dragging her to her feet and yelling in her ear.
"We have to get out of here, Rose! Now! We don't stand a chance against something like that, and we can't afford to be captured!"
Rose stumbled along beside him, too stunned even to argue. She'd never encountered anything so big and strong and fast before. Not even the Grendel. She was smiling again as she and Brett ran down the street. Next time, she'd be prepared, and the reptiloid would get what was coming to him. She could use some luggage of that particular shade of green. It was good to know there were still some real challenges in the world. She and Brett ran down the street, leaning on each other, and it was hard to tell who was supporting whom.
Saturday stared after them, and then bent over Lewis. He grabbed the Deathstalker by the shoulder and lifted him half off the ground so he could study the extent of his injuries. Lewis cried out, almost fainting from the pain. Saturday sniffed, and let him fall back again.
"I know you; King's Champion. Deathstalker. Yes. Is this a mortal wound for your kind? Should I avenge you, or go for help? Advise me, King's Champion. What should I do?"
"Stop the riot," Lewis said, or thought he said. His head was full of sound and light, and it was hard to make his mouth work. The world seemed very far away. He was cold, his whole body shuddering. Shock. He gritted his teeth. This was going to hurt. "Get me on my feet, sir reptiloid."
Saturday hauled him up easily, and supported Lewis's weight with one forearm while the Deathstalker leaned gasping against the reptiloid's armored hide. He realized vaguely that the sound of the mob had changed. There was still shouting and screaming, but it was more fear than rage now, already dying away, and the slogan shouters were conspicuously silent. Lewis pushed himself away from the reptiloid, the effort bringing beads of sweat to his face. He looked back at the crowd, and saw that they were standing still, staring up into the sky. Lewis looked up too, and smiled shakily as he saw the sky was full of gravity barges. The troops had finally arrived. Broadcast voices were calling for the mob to surrender and throw down their weapons, and ranks of energy guns on the barges moved ostentatiously to follow those who didn't respond quickly enough. Everywhere the fighting was stopped. The riot was over. Lewis closed his eyes for a moment in relief, and then looked up at the reptiloid.
"Saturday. Get me… into the House. Regeneration… machine."
"As you wish," said the reptiloid. He looked wistfully at what had once been a mob, but was now just a crowd with its hands in the air. "I came here specially to show Pure Humanity just what an alien can do, when it got annoyed enough, but I seem to have missed my chance. Pity. I was really hoping to find out what a Neuman tasted like… Never mind. Bound to be a next time."
He looked down, and realized Lewis was no longer listening to him, and was in fact barely conscious. Saturday shrugged his broad green shoulders, and whistled an old tribal song as he draped Lewis casually over one shoulder and strode swiftly towards the House. People hurried to get out of his way.
In the House, still sitting stiffly on his Throne, King Douglas cried out in shock and horror as he saw Lewis fall to the unexpected disrupter shot. A single media camera had followed Lewis, its operator curious as to why the Deathstalker had chosen to leave the fray, and when the Deathstalker went head to head with the Wild Rose, the camera operator realized he'd stumbled onto one hell of an exclusive. The whole Empire watched the duel, live; and saw Lewis struck down by treachery.
The King was on his feet in a moment, Jesamine weeping and clinging to his arm. The House was silent, watching the King uncertainly. Anne was yelling in his ear, but he wasn't listening. Douglas stepped down from the raised dais, and onto the floor of the House, almost dragging Jesamine along with him. He looked at the exit, and the House was very still as everyone waited to see what he would do.
"You can't go!" said Anne, so loudly she hurt her throat. "Douglas, listen to me! You're the King. Your place is here."
"He's my friend," Douglas said, not bothering to subvocalize. "They've killed my friend. I have to go to him."
"You have to stay here and keep this place from falling apart! You don't know he's dead!" Anne made an effort to lower her voice, knowing only reason could reach Douglas now. "You have a duty not to put yourself into danger. Who's to say Lewis wasn't shot deliberately, to try and tempt you into leaving the safety of the House? Lewis wouldn't want to be responsible for your death. Don't play into their hands, Douglas. There'll be time for vengeance later. You have to stay here. Keep the MPs from panicking, and agreeing to something stu
pid. You have to put your feelings aside, for now. You have to set an example, for the House. You're the King."
"What kind of King abandons his friend? His… dying friend?"
"One who knows his duty. Please, Douglas. You can't go out there. It's what they want, and you know it. If they kill you, they win. And Lewis… will have died for nothing."
Douglas turned slowly, and looked back at his golden Throne. And in that moment, it seemed more like a trap than anything else. But because he was the King, and a Campbell, and a man who had always known his duty, King Douglas walked slowly back across the floor of the House, stepped back up onto the dais, and sat down upon his Throne again. He looked out over the silent House with cold, unforgiving eyes, and didn't even notice Jesamine was gone. He looked at the MPs, and they looked back, waiting to see what he would do. Douglas turned away from them, and looked at the esper representative. The young man who spoke for the oversoul stood up to meet his King's gaze.
"When I speak," Douglas said slowly. "The oversoul hears. All of you. Yes?"
"We all hear you," said the young man. He didn't look anything special. "What do you wish of the esper gestalt, your majesty?"
"Stop the riot," Douglas said flatly. "Do whatever you have to. Whatever it takes. But stop the killing."
"No!" said Meerah Puri, quickly on her feet. Other MPs rose to join her. "Your majesty, I protest! We can't use espers against humans!"
"Shut up," said Douglas. "You had your chance, and you did nothing. Nothing but squabble and bicker, while good men and women died. I have done what was necessary, made a decision where you couldn't. That is what a Speaker and a King is for, isn't it?"
"You had no right to commit us to this!" said Michel du Bois, and other angry voices joined his. Douglas laughed in their faces. And then the esper representative spoke, his young voice somehow cutting effortlessly across the uproar.
"It's done," he said calmly. "The oversoul has teleported troops and gravity barges directly into position outside the House. Telepaths are quieting and controlling the minds of those who still feel like fighting. It's all over now, your majesty."
"Damn you, Douglas," Anne said quietly. "What have you done?"
When Emma Steel became separated from Lewis Deathstalker by the mob, she was briefly lost, but she quickly spotted another familiar face in Paragon armor and purple cloak. She fought her way through the packed crowd, cutting down men and women with crazed faces and mostly improvised weapons, trying not to let the madness of the mob infect her. It would be only too easy to give in to anger, to kill for revenge instead of justice; but Emma Steel was a Paragon, and Paragons didn't do that. She was outnumbered, betrayed, surrounded by maddened rioters who would have torn her to pieces with their bare hands if they could; but still she fought with cold calculation, killing only when she had to, to survive. Right now, she was concentrating on getting to someone she could trust to guard her back. The Paragon she'd spotted was just ahead now, fighting with skill and precision, actually smiling slightly in the face of impossible odds. Not that she would have expected anything less from him. Emma didn't know many Paragons by sight, but everyone knew the classically handsome features of Finn Durandal.
Finn didn't see her coming, being more preoccupied with looking good. He'd come out into the crowd because it could have looked odd, if not downright suspicious, if he hadn't. There was no plausible way he could have avoided knowing about the riot, or the assault on his fellow Paragons, and if he hadn't put in an appearence, people would have asked questions. They might even have begun to doubt him, and he couldn't have that. He still needed to be seen as the selfless hero they'd always thought he was. So he came roaring in on his gravity sled, jumped down into the thick of the fighting, right next to a hovering media camera, and got stuck in, smiting the ungodly with all his usual vim and vigor.
Of course, there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. The people he'd chosen to fight were actually his own people, hand-picked bravos recruited from the smoke-filled dens of the Rookery; paid handsomely to put up a good fight and lose impressively, right where the camera could see it. And protect him from the genuine rioters while they did it. They blended in easily with the rest of the mob, largely anonymous in their previously supplied crimson Church outfits, and engaged Finn in lengthy, flashy but essentially safe duels that the watching home audience would eat up with spoons. And if none of these apparent bad guys were actually dying; well, that just showed how merciful and compassionate the great Finn Durandal could be.
It was all going very well, until Emma Steel suddenly appeared out of nowhere, bound and determined to fight at his side. He knew her reputation. Everyone did. He couldn't fake a duel in front of her and hope to get away with it. So he shrugged mentally, and killed his own people. He did it quickly, before they could realize he wasn't pretending anymore; but even so, he thought Emma gave him a strange, almost puzzled look before the last of the bravos was dead, and the real crowd closed in around them, and they were both fighting for real.
Finn was just planning a path that would take him (apparently by chance) to the edge of the roiling crowd, and relative safety, when there was a roar of displaced air above him, and he looked up sharply to see military gravity barges appearing in the sky above the not. Huge, dark vessels, bristling with rows of disrupter cannon, every one of them targeted on the crowd below. Loud broadcast voices called for the mob to throw down their weapons and surrender, or else. Finn and Emma stood back to back, sword and gun still in hand, looking quickly about them to see which way the crowd would go. The mob had found a taste for blood, and just might make a fight of it. And then the espers appeared, dozens of them, hovering in midair beside and among the gravity barges, looking down on the mess of mere humanity below them like so many angels standing in judgement. Their eyes glowed bright as suns as they hung unsupported on the air, the sheer sense of their presence almost overwhelming. When they spoke it was with one voice, sounding simultaneously in everyone's mind; a great godlike Voice that could not be defied or debated, only obeyed.
Put down your weapons. Stand still. Wait quietly for the peacekeepers to come and take you away.
All through the crowd, people dropped guns and swords and improvised weapons, their hands opening in spite of themselves. The compulsion in their minds shut down everything but their most basic thought processes. Their faces were blank, their eyes empty, all rage and passion and individuality gone in a moment. Only the surviving peacekeepers, security forces, and Paragons remained untouched, exempt from the telepathic geas. Emma slowly lowered her sword, looking wonderingly about her. Finn put away his sword and gun and walked away, unnoticed. Peacekeepers began slowly making their way through the calm, unresponsive crowd, searching out the troublemakers and rabble-rousers, and collecting discarded weapons by the armful. The telepaths walked across the air above the crowd, sifting through minds in search of guilty secrets. Once that would have been an illegal, unthinkable act, but the oversoul had the King's authority. For the moment. And men and women who only a moment before had been willing to fight and die for the cause they believed in, now stood listlessly, helplessly, and let them do it.
They were still standing there some time later, when the troops came to lead them off in restraints, and the medics came to treat the injured and name-tag the dead. There were a lot of dead. A surprisingly large number were Paragons. The beloved heroes of the Empire now lay still and silent on the bloody ground, wrapped in the tatters of their proud purple cloaks.
Parliament and the King watched in silence as the crowd stood placidly, their eyes as blank and uncomplaining as the beasts of the field. Peacekeepers took away certain individuals that the media coverage had revealed as instigating or orchestrating the troubles. Sometimes the peacekeepers hit or beat these people, or pushed them violently to the ground and kicked them, and they took it silently, unable to complain or protect themselves. There was still a lot of anger in the air, from those who had survived the madness of the
mob. Most of the crowd would go to improvised prison compounds the military were hastily putting together on the outskirts of the city. There would be time for courts and laws and rights later.
Most would probably just be released with a warning. Clogging up the Courts to no great effect wouldn't serve anyone. And besides; the Church and the Neumen had proved themselves a powerful force. It wouldn't do to antagonize them unneccessarily. None of the MPs said that out loud. They didn't have to. They just sat and watched in silence as the crowd was silently dismantled and led away. Up above them, hanging on the sky like they were nailed there, the espers broadcast tranquillity, the influence of their powerful minds holding the crowd effortlessly in their grasp. Some of them were smiling. They didn't look like angels anymore. If anything, they looked like birds of prey waiting for some slow and stupid animal to die.
"Espers controlling human minds," Michel du Bois said finally, his voice full of a cold, tired bitterness. "Putting their thoughts into other people's minds. Taking away their free will, making slaves of them. Does this perhaps remind your majesty of anything? Of what the ELFs did in the Arenas, only a few weeks ago?"