Deathstalker Legacy (14 page)

“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 fit perfectly.

And what were the odds of that?

Even farther 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 plenty 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.”

“We’re 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.

“I have presided over a Golden Age,” he said, and everyone hung on his words. “And I have had the good sense to know that nothing much was needed from me, except to be a care-taker. To preserve what my father handed down to me. To bear the Crown with dignity, to do my duty and care for my people, and not to interfere. Because I have always known that Golden Ages don’t last forever. That in the end, if they are to persevere, they must be fought for. That was why I insisted my son be allowed to train as a Paragon. To root him in the real world, before he came to the Throne. The King who replaces me will know what it is to fight evil. It is my most profound hope that this Empire will not need a warrior King. But should such a person be needed to preserve the Empire in its time of need, I have done everything in my power to ensure that this Empire will have the King and Protector it deserves.”

An uncertain murmur moved through the crowd as he paused. Yes, there were still enemies to be fought, as the ELFs had demonstrated in the Arena only that day. But the modern Empire’s enemies were few and puny, compared to the evil forces of the legendary Owen Deathstalker’s time. Everyone knew that.

“I shall close with the King’s traditional warning to the people,” William said sternly. “Let us all beware the coming of the Terror. Let us stand ready to fight against the final evil, as proclaimed by Owen Deathstalker, via his friend and companion Captain John Silence. Let us prepare the armies of Humanity, that we might not be found wanting, in the hour of our greatest peril! Let us defend the light!

“In Owen’s name!”

“In Owen’s name!”
said the crowd, in one great voice. They were on firmer ground here, though no one took the ancient ceremonial warning that seriously. It was two hundred years since Owen had given his warning to Silence, and then vanished out of history and into legend; presumably to go hunt for the Terror. Everyone gave the warning lip service, of course, but no one really believed the Terror, whatever it was, would turn up in their lifetime. Judgement Day was always going to be someone else’s problem. On the dais, William turned and bowed to the Third Throne, standing a little to one side, left empty for Owen, should he ever return; and everyone else bowed too. The rituals had to be observed. That was what rituals were for.

Only one man in the crowd knew Owen would never return. Because he alone knew that Owen Deathstalker was dead.

William turned to his son Douglas, who knelt before him. The orchestra played softly. Holographic doves flew overhead. The Patriarch of the Church of Christ Transcendent came forward, looking very young but every bit as solemn and dignified as the occasion demanded. He said all the right words, in the right order, and perhaps only William and Douglas were close enough to see the Patriarch had eyes like an animal caught in the headlights of an approaching vehicle. Either way, he got through the entire ritual without a single stumble, supported by calm looks and smiles from the old King and the new, and his hands were entirely steady when he finally took the Crown from William and placed it on Douglas’s head.

The crowd went wild as King Douglas rose to his feet. They roared and applauded and stamped their feet, and even the robots and the aliens did their best to get into the spirit of the thing. The official media cameras broadcast it all live from a respectful distance, and all across the Empire, on thousands of worlds, the people kissed and hugged each other and partied in the streets, in honor of their new King. Great times were coming. They could feel it. And Brett Random, who just happened to have got caught in the front of the crowd, unable to withdraw with the rest of the waiters (planning is everything), captured it all through his camera eye. And all he could think was:
I’m going to be rich! Rich! Rich!

King Douglas looked out over his people and smiled and nodded, waiting patiently for the uproar to die down, so he could begin his ascendance speech.

Once again, Anne had done her very best work. Douglas said all the right things, in a rich and commanding and very gracious voice, just as he’d been coached, promising the Court and Parliament and all the listening audience just what they wanted to hear. That things would go on as they were, only better. That he would do his duty as King, and lead his people on through peace and prosperity. And that he loved them all dearly. Then he announced his forthcoming marriage, to Jesamine Flowers, and the crowd went wild all over again.