Deathstalker Legacy (11 page)

“We need a strong King,” said Finn. “You and I, Douglas, we’ve seen evil up close. Fought it, face-to-face. Walked through the blood of innocents. The guilty must be punished.”

Douglas nodded. “Everything I do will have one aim in mind: to protect the people.”

“And who will protect them from you?” Lewis said softly.

Douglas smiled. “Why, my Champion, of course. Because he’ll be the people’s Champion, just as much as the King’s.”

“You’re expecting a lot from whoever you finally choose,” said Lewis.

“Oh, I’ve already made a choice, and I have complete confidence in him. And no, I’m not going to tell you now. You know how I love my little surprises. And now, if you’ll both excuse me, it seems there’s someone I just have to meet backstage, before the Ceremony. I have recently been informed, by my father the King, that I am getting married. Whether I like it or not.”

“Can they do that?” said Lewis incredulously. “I mean; arranged marriages have been out of fashion ever since the Families fell.”

“Not where the King’s concerned,” said Douglas, grimacing. “It’s not just a job, it’s a destiny.”

“So who are you going to marry?” said Finn. “Odds are it’s some inbred aristo with warts and a speech impediment.”

“Actually,” said Douglas, just a little diffidently, “it’s Jesamine Flowers.”

“Bloody hell!” said Lewis, so loudly that everyone in the vicinity looked around sharply. Lewis lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “
The
Jesamine Flowers?
Bloody hell . . .
I’ve got all her recordings . . .”

Finn studied Douglas thoughtfully. “Something of a prize, certainly. But . . . this came from Parliament, rather than your father, didn’t it? Are you really going to allow them to tell you what to do, this early in your new career? You could be setting a precedent you’ll come to regret.”

“Oh, come on!” said Lewis. “This is Jesamine Flowers we’re talking about! I’d crawl across broken glass just for a smile and a wave!”

“I’m in no position to defy Parliament’s wishes,” said Douglas. “Not yet, anyway. And their logic is unassailable. The King must have a Queen who can do the job. Jesamine Flowers will be a very popular choice with the people . . . It could have been a hell of a lot worse . . .”

“You’ll have no time for your old friends now,” said Lewis, grinning. “People like Finn and me will probably be banished from the Court as bad influences on you.”

Douglas reached out and took Lewis by the arm. “Nothing will ever part us, Lewis. Not the Throne, not my marriage; nothing. Not after all we’ve been through together. You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had. We’ll talk more about this, after the Ceremony. Now I’ve got to go and make nice with my bride-to-be. If you’re both very good, I’ll try and get you autographs.”

He left them then, striding quickly off through the crowd, frowning so fiercely that people hurried to get out of his way. Lewis and Finn watched him go, looked at each other, and then shook their heads slowly.

“This is turning out to be a day of surprises,” said Lewis.

“Some more significant than others,” said Finn. “He might have told us who’s going to be Champion. Who’s closer to him than us?”

“Come off it,” said Lewis. “Everyone knows it’s going to be you. You’re the longest-serving Paragon, with an unmatched record. He’d have to be crazy to give it to anyone else. No one else has half your experience. You’re the better warrior.”

“And the better man,” Finn said solemnly. “Don’t forget that. And, of course, incredibly modest.”

“Well, yes,” said Lewis. “But then, you have so much to be modest about.”

They laughed quietly together, and then turned and looked out over the packed Court. Neither of them had anything much to do now, until it was time for the Ceremony. Lewis snagged glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and they drank in silence. Lewis had never had any doubts as to who would be Champion. Finn was the greatest Paragon there’d ever been. Everyone knew that. And, Finn was Logres’s Paragon. Local boy made (very) good. His exploits were common knowledge throughout the Empire. A warrior and a hero well on his way to being a legend in his own lifetime.

Even if he was sometimes a little extreme in his actions.

Lewis had never considered himself worthy to be Champion. Half the time he didn’t even feel worthy to bear the legendary Deathstalker name. It wasn’t like he was even a direct descendent. The direct line died with David, on Virimonde. Technically Owen was still listed as Missing in Action . . . but after two hundred years only the really devout still thought he’d turn up someday. But such was public sentiment for the legendary name, that King Robert had promoted an indirect branch, and made them Deathstalkers. And every damned one of them had been a Paragon. Lewis had never wanted anything else, ever since he was a child. The day he left Virimonde as its choice of Paragon, to go to Logres for his confirmation, had been the happiest and proudest day of his life.

And yet it wasn’t something he intended to do for the rest of his life. Being a Paragon was a young man’s job; a job for a man without wife or family to grieve if he didn’t come home someday. The job killed a lot of Paragons young. Finn was in his early fifties, the oldest serving Paragon, ever, and Lewis had to wonder why. It was a job worth doing, certainly. A necessary job, and with many rewards. But most Paragons retired in their thirties, to become media celebrities, wealthy men who could pretty much write their own tickets. But Finn just kept on going.

Finn Durandal wasn’t an easy man to understand. He rarely gave interviews, even to his own websites, and when he did he rarely had much to say. The usual stuff about justice, and what an honor it was to serve as a Paragon. And while there was no denying he clearly enjoyed putting it to the bad guys, surely that wasn’t motive enough to continue in so dangerous a job for so long. What kind of a man chose such a job over the comforts of wife and children, family and home? There’d been women enough in Finn’s life; he was always being seen escorting some new beauty in the gossip magazines. But none of them seemed to stick around very long.

“Why?” Lewis said suddenly, and Finn turned to look at him. He didn’t seem surprised.

“Everyone asks me that question eventually. And you waited longer than most. So . . . Partly because there’s only ever been me. Just me. No family, no great love. No one who ever cared enough to stick around. I guess I’m just not good with people. And also . . . because I’m good at it. No one does it better than me. The greatest Paragon there’s ever been. More medals, more commendations, more dead bad guys to my credit than anyone else. And now, I’m going to be Champion. Not just one world’s protector, but the whole Empire’s. Someday, they’ll have my image up in one of those windows. My name will even eclipse yours.”

“I’m glad,” said Lewis. “Really. You earned it.”

“Yes,” said Finn. “I did.” He was still looking at the stained-glass windows. “Once, my ancestor was a hero. Lord Durandal. My family’s history is packed with records of his exploits. Great adventures, amazing deeds. But no one else remembers him now. No stained-glass window for my ancestor. He went out into the Darkvoid, eventually, sent by his Emperor in search of lost Haden, and the Darkvoid Device. He never came back. No one knows what happened to him. He failed in his quest, and was forgotten. There’s a valuable lesson to be learned in that, Lewis.”

Is that why you keep throwing yourself into battle?
thought Lewis.
Because you don’t want to be seen to fail? Even by retiring?

Aloud, he said, “I never knew your family were Lords.”

“It’s not something it’s wise to talk about, these days,” said Finn, shrugging. “I can’t say I miss the Families. I’d much rather be a Paragon. You could say we’re the new aristocracy, rich and powerful and adored; but decided by feats of valor and merit rather than accident of birth. Hell, I’m richer now than any of my old Family ever were. Thirty-odd years of merchandising and careful investments will do that for you. You should try it, Lewis. You’re the only Paragon I know who doesn’t even have his own action figure.”

“I never cared about being rich,” said Lewis. “And trading on my name as a Paragon always seemed to me that it would . . . somehow cheapen it. I don’t judge those who do. I just know it’s not for me.”

Finn looked at him thoughtfully. “How very noble of you, Lewis. I have to say . . . I did wonder, for a while, whether Douglas would make you Champion. Just because you’re a Deathstalker. That name still means something. It has power. And God knows Douglas was always a real sentimentalist.”

Lewis shrugged quickly. “Legends . . . should stay in the past, where they belong. I have always preferred to be judged by my own accomplishments, such as they are. I’ve never wanted to be Champion, Finn. That’s going to be a job for someone who understands politics, and can play the game. I’ve never understood politics, and to be honest, I’ve never given a damn. I’m a Paragon, and that’s all I ever wanted to be.”

“Happy the man with no ambition,” said Finn. “But happier still the man who aims high, and dreams great dreams.”

Lewis looked at him. “What?”

 

Backstage, in a spotless high-tech office absolutely crammed with the very latest in computers, comm tech, and surveillance equipment, the most famous opera singer in the Empire and the Court’s official Head of Protocol, Jesamine Flowers and Anne Barclay, were discussing the forthcoming Ceremony over tea and chocolate biscuits. Two old friends, with more shared past than most people would be comfortable with, two of the most influential people in the Empire, giggling and pushing each other and generally acting like overgrown kids.

Jesamine Flowers was tall, blond, beautiful, voluptuous and glamorous, because her profession and position demanded it of her. Gorgeous rather than pretty, and radiating a sexuality as overbearing as a blowtorch, Jesamine’s universally recognized face and figure had never known the slightest assistance from a body shop. Somehow, her few imperfections just made her more
her
. That’s show business for you.

The Empire’s most admired diva, Jesamine Flowers, had been at the very top of her profession for twenty-five years, ever since she first stole the show out from under some poor unfortunate lead when she was only fifteen years old. A voice like an angel and a body built for sin, and just enough of a sense of humor so that everyone knew she didn’t take either quality too seriously. Her many vid and sound recordings had made her so wealthy that even show business accountants couldn’t hide most of it, and Jesamine paid more in taxes every year than some colonized planets. She could have retired long ago; but there were still so many roles to play, so many stages to dominate, so many young pretenders to send packing. And Jesamine was still never happier than when reducing an audience to tears, or laughter, or filling their hearts with awe.

She was forty years old, and she’d done it all. And that, really, was the problem.

She’d arrived at Court with her usual entourage, all the many people she needed to be Jesamine Flowers
the star,
but she dismissed them all when Anne Barclay arrived. (Some of them weren’t too happy about that, sensing a threat to their position and influence, but Jesamine drove those poor fools away with threats and insults and the occasional slap and kick. Jesamine ran a tight ship.) She and Anne retired to Anne’s office, where they could be sure of a little privacy. Jesamine didn’t feel the need to play the star around Anne. She was much more interested in a good chat and gossip, and a chance to put her feet up.

Anne Barclay was short and stocky, and wearing a smartly cut gray suit that made her look very efficient. She had bright red hair cropped brutally close to the skull, above a face with strong cheekbones to give it character, but precious little else to recommend it. She never could be bothered with makeup, and had resigned herself at an early age to being the kind of person who always tended to blend into the background at any gathering. She was used to not being noticed, and had come to prefer it, mostly. Drawing people’s attention just got in the way, when there was work to be done.

Back when they were both a lot younger, Anne Barclay had promoted and managed Jesamine Flowers’s career, and had been very good at it. Anne was ruthless in business, so that Jesamine could concentrate on her art. They became good friends, closer than sisters, so it came as something of a shock to Jesamine when one day Anne bluntly announced that she was leaving show business, in search of something more challenging. And secure. Jesamine had pleaded with her to stay, but Anne was equally ruthless in her private life.
You don’t need me anymore,
she said.
And I need to be needed.

She came to Logres because everyone knew that was where the real action was, joined King William’s staff, and quickly worked her way up through a combination of efficiency and brutal intimidation, to become Head of Protocol. The pay was good, she knew where enough bodies were buried to be sure her job was secure; and most important, every day brought a new challenge. Everyone wanted access to the King, but they had to go through her to get it.

Jesamine and Anne kept in touch through the years, following each other’s careers and visiting frequently. Perhaps because each of them was the only person left in the other’s life who wasn’t frightened of her.

Anne studied Jesamine’s entourage on one of her surveillance monitors, as they milled about the Court buttonholing people and getting in everyone’s way. “They aren’t going to be any trouble, are they, Jes?”

“Oh darling, they wouldn’t dare. They all live in fear of displeasing me, and quite rightly too. No; I sent them off into the multitude, to circulate among the lesser mortals, and spread rumors of my coming elevation to greatness. Always prime the pump, darling. How else will my public know how wonderful I am, if I don’t keep reminding them?”