Deathstalker Legacy

Table of Contents

 

 

“A tangled tapestry of intrigue, hidden passion, and high adventure in a space opera filled with swashbuckling adventure.”

—
Library Journal

“An over-the-top masterpiece that veers between brutal comedy and touching riffs on love, loyalty, and betrayal. . . . Bloody funny and extremely bloody.”

—
The Guardian
(UK)

“Swift action and fascinating reading . . . especially recommended for prior fans.”

—
Library Bookwatch

“Good fun in Green’s best gory style.”

—
Locus

“Space opera at its action best.”

—Allscifi.com

“Great fun.”

—
Booklist

 

“Be prepared for an incredible romp through a wonderful universe of space opera, filled with outrageous and incredibly powerful heroes and villains, swords and disruptors and more lethal creatures than you can imagine.”

—SF Site

 

“The action is fast and frenzied . . . manages to consistently entertain, with some wondrously quirky and warped characters.”

—
Locus

 

“Green blends derring-do, space battles, and wry banter aplenty to form an eminently satisfying space opera.”

—
Booklist

 

“A huge novel of sweeping scope, told with a strong sense of legend.”

—
Locus

 

 

Roc

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First Roc Paperback Printing, December

Copyright © Simon R. Green, 2002

eISBN : 978-1-101-16722-9

All rights reserved

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

 

 

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

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LAST NIGHT I DREAMED OF OWEN DEATHSTALKER.

He was walking slowly through the empty stone corridors of his old Family castle, the Deathstalker Standing, on Virimonde. He was tall and rangy, with dark hair and darker eyes, moving with the quiet grace of long martial training. He looked like he’d had to walk forever to get home. His clothes were torn and blood-stained, topped with a great fur cloak. His face was tired and drawn, and his eyes were haunted and quietly sad. His footsteps made no sound at all as he strode slowly down the ancient flagstones; but then, he was a dead man, after all, walking through a castle that hadn’t existed for centuries.

He wore a sword on one hip and a gun on the other, though he always thought of himself as a scholar who became a warrior, almost against his will. Because he was needed. Because there was no one else. A man of peace and reason, destined and doomed to fight in one war after another, who fought for justice for all and knew so little of it himself. Not for him, the simple joys and comforts; of hearth and home and family, of children and grandchildren and peace of heart. Owen was a hero, and so he had died alone, far too young, and far from friends, saving all Humanity.

He overthrew the Empress Lionstone, destroyed her evil and corrupt system, and replaced it with the seeds of what would eventually become a Golden Age. He gave hope and freedom to all the people of the Empire, for the first time, and never lived to see any of it.
Deathstalker luck,
he would have said wryly, not complaining.
Always bad.
Destiny is a cold and heartless beast, and cares nothing for the pawns it sacrifices.

In my dream, I saw him walk into a gorgeously appointed chamber that hasn’t existed for over two hundred years, and I saw him greet his old friends and companions. Hazel d’Ark, ex-pirate and clonelegger, the one great love of Owen’s life. Jack Random, the professional rebel. Ruby Journey, the female bounty hunter, who never could resist a challenge. And the Hadenman Tobias Moon, who fought so hard for his own humanity. They all gripped hands and hugged each other, clapped each other on the back and on the shoulder, so happy to be together again. For all their differences, they were always friends.

Five ghosts, of the people they used to be, in the memory of a castle no longer standing. They laughed together, but I couldn’t hear them.

All gone now, long gone. Dead and gone, these two hundred years.

I miss them so much.

In my dream I called out to them, and Owen turned and looked at me. I tried to warn him, of the Terror yet to come, but he couldn’t hear me. Too many years separated us. Years, and more.

As I sit here writing this, burdened with memory, it’s hard to remember him the way he really was. The man, not the myth. The hero, not the legend.

Last night I dreamed of Owen Deathstalker and the way things were; and I wish, oh how I wish, that I could have slept and dreamed forever, and never had to wake up.

I
t was a Golden Age, dammit. People tend to forget that, in the wake of all that happened. They forget from how high a point they fell, or were pushed. Or jumped. But for over a hundred years the Empire had known peace and prosperity, unbridled growth and progress, and justice for all. A golden Empire; the very best parts of Humanity writ large across the stars. It was a time of unprecedented breakthroughs and advances made all the more glorious because its wondrous spoils were shared so freely with those who were not human. The Empire now embraced clones, espers, aliens, and even those who had once been the official Enemies of Humanity: the AIs of Shub. For almost two hundred years these disparate elements had labored together to forge a new Empire from the ruins of the old, to produce a whole far greater than the sum of its parts. Triumph followed triumph, marvels and miracles were the order of the day, every day, and no one could see any reason why it shouldn’t continue forever.