Deathstalker Legacy (54 page)

Right now the Paragons were marching; all of the King’s Justice left after their losses at the Neuman riot, resplendent in their gleaming armor and proud purple cloaks, led by Lewis Deathstalker in his black leather Champion’s armor. Crowds lined the pavements of every street, packed tightly together in rows several deep, waving flags and banners and calling out the names of their favorites in the short breaks between the massed cheering. Most impressively of all, it was all totally spontaneous. No one had had to encourage the people out onto the streets, though Parliament had certainly been ready to try. Time had passed since the Neuman riot, and perhaps the people were just a little ashamed at how quickly they’d turned against their former idols. And perhaps, in the face of the Terror, they needed to believe in their heroes again. Certainly the Parade of the Endless had never seen crowds and excitement like it.

It seemed like everyone in the city who wasn’t on essential duties had turned out to honor the Paragons on their great Parade. They even gathered on flat roofs, on balconies, and leaned precariously out of windows to shout and scream and blow kisses. It rained rose petals all down the main routes, and on some of the busier intersections peacekeeper security actually had to set up low-level force shields to hold the overenthusiastic crowds back. More peacekeepers, in what they fondly imagined to be plain clothes, infiltrated the crowds to watch out for pickpockets and flashers and, of course, agents provocateurs. But there was hardly any trouble at all. The people were determined to be in a good mood. They even remained fairly good-natured in the face of illegal street traders charging twenty credits for a bottle of water or something dubious in a hot dog.

Lewis Deathstalker strode out proudly at the front of the Parade, his old purple cloak flapping around his Champion’s armor. It felt good to be back among his old comrades again, accepted by them and the thronging multitudes. He did his best to keep his ugly face pleasant, and even managed the occasional smile for the media cameras. He kept the pace of the march deliberately slow. It was still early in the day, but already it was more than comfortably warm. Parliament had had a quiet but forceful word in the ear of weather control, to make sure they provided the best and most comfortable conditions for the crowds. As a result, it was so warm and balmy, you’d hardly know it was still winter. However, Lewis was already beginning to sweat inside his leather armor, and didn’t even want to think about how it must be feeling for the Paragons inside their steel breastplates. So he kept the pace slow, and steady.

The route Finn Durandal had so carefully planned led the Paragons from the southern boundary all the way across the city to the northern, passing through as many attractive points of interest and tourist attractions as possible, to be sure those watching the Parade on their vidscreens all across the Empire got their money’s worth. It was going to be a long walk. Lewis had wisely prepared the night before by working rubbing alcohol into his feet, and pissing into his boots before leaving them to stand overnight (old hunting and tracking tricks), but he just knew that by the end of the day, his and every other Paragon’s feet were going to be killing them.

The cheering and approbation of the crowds was very pleasant, though. Anywhen else, Lewis might have allowed himself to enjoy it. If it hadn’t been for the Terror, and the Quest, and Jesamine.

Finn Durandal was marching right behind Lewis, his new partner, Emma Steel, striding out at his side. Finn constantly smiled and waved to the crowds, and they loved him for it. His armor had been buffed and polished until it gleamed like the sun, and his classically handsome face was bright and open and charming. He looked like a young god, tall and brave and true, a splendid presence come down to earth to acknowledge his worshipers. Showing just enough humility so that he wouldn’t come across as arrogant, of course. Finn had always been able to judge these things to a tee.

Emma Steel looked smart and stylish and just a little bit glamorous. Her flat black hair was still pulled back into a strictly functional bun, but her coffee skin and fine bone structure had a grace and warmth that owed nothing to artifice or design. Unlike certain other Paragons she could name. Emma was what she was, which was a refreshing change on Logres. She’d made a good name for herself as a tireless thief-taker in her short time in the city, pursuing villains and scumbags with enthusiasm and stubbornness, and the people (mostly) approved of her. They made sure she knew it, shouting her name over and over again. She smiled and nodded, and tried not to let it go to her head, although this was more like the kind of reception she’d always imagined for herself on Logres.

Finn ignored her as much as possible, intent on charming the crowd. Though Emma couldn’t help noticing he spent a surprising amount of time studying the windows and alley-ways on either side of them. Surely it was far too early for trouble yet? After all, a small army of peacekeeper security was treading the streets ahead of them, checking thoroughly for any sign of Hellfire Club or Shadow Court troublemakers. Emma tried to tell herself Finn was just being paranoid, but couldn’t keep from surreptitiously checking the occasional window and alleyway herself. Just to be sure.

Two streets ahead, the ELFs were waiting. The security people had already passed them by, looking right at the ELFs in their hiding places and seeing nothing. Safely hidden behind telepathic projections, the ELFs sat patiently, waiting for their prey to come to them. They snacked lightly on the fevered emotions of the crowds, but did not feast. Pleasant emotions did not satisfy them. They’d moved into the positions Finn had suggested a full twelve hours in advance, just so they could check out the situation, and make sure the Paragon hadn’t arranged any nasty surprises for them. But it was all as he’d said. No waiting Paragons or peacekeepers, no troops with esp-blockers. Just a series of empty rooms in several anonymous office buildings, overlooking the Parade’s route, as promised. The ELFs killed everyone else in the buildings, just to be on the safe side and because they enjoyed it, and then broadcast subtle telepathic avoidance fields, so no one else would want to enter the buildings. Happy onlookers crowded the streets outside the office buildings, and never knew or suspected a thing.

The ELFs watched the Parade of the Paragons draw slowly nearer, from behind tinted windows, and smiled poisonous smiles. Thirty-two ELFs, the largest gathering of rogue espers in one place since . . . well, since the Arena debacle, but this coming triumph would pay for all those losses. The ELFs had decided that revenge on the Paragons wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. The crowds and the city had to suffer too. Thirty-two esper minds working together could execute all kinds of dark wonders and miracles. They would do terrible things, appalling things, bloody things.And the media cameras that came to cover the Paragons would broadcast it all live to a horrified Empire.

Nothing and no one would be spared. The city would burn and the ELFs would feed, and they would come forth and walk openly in triumph through the Hell they’d made, and defy anyone to put right what they’d done. And before they left, they’d gather all the severed heads and pile them into a great staring mountain right before the main doors of the House of Parliament; a thousand heads for every head Finn Durandal had taken in the Arena.

The ELFs hadn’t told Finn any of this. They thought they’d let it come as a nice surprise. Before they made him cut open his own belly in front of the cameras, and pull out his guts, and feast on them until he choked. The ELFs had no interest in human allies, only in fools they could use. They’d given their word that he would be safe, that he would not be touched during the evil to come; but Finn of all people should have known that words only mean something if they can be enforced. His promises of future shared ventures meant nothing. Only revenge mattered.

The Parade was almost upon them. Lewis Deathstalker led them down the street, so many poor fools heading blithely towards their own destruction, blinded by the adulation of the simpleminded crowds. It was time, at last. Dying time. The ELFs laughed together, hugging their vicious joy to them, and smashed the tinted windows with their minds. The shattered steelglass rained down on the unsuspecting heads of the crowds below. People fell screaming to the ground, cut and injured, some seriously, while the rest tried to run, and cried out in horror when they found they couldn’t, held in place by ELF control. The ELFs emerged from the ruins of the smashed windows, walking out onto the air, and looking down on the Parade of the Paragons as they crashed to a halt in the middle of the street.

They hung there, thirty-two ELFs, eyes blazing, mocking halos of leaping black flames circling their heads. Smiling widely at the screams that greeted them. They paused for a moment, to savor the thought of all the suffering they would soon inflict, of the vast emotional energies they would feed on, of their great and noble triumph over the lesser creatures that sought to drag them down to their level; and then the ELFs linked their minds and lashed out at the Paragons below.

And found they’d been betrayed. Their minds met an impenetrable shield, their controlling thoughts thrown back at them in disarray. The Paragons were protected. They were all carrying esp-blockers, connected in series for greater power. The ELFs cried out in shock and horror, realizing that they had been lured into a trap by their own greed for revenge. Their mental link broke apart in a moment, and the ELFs tried to run; to fly from the trap prepared for them, every rogue esper for him- and herself. Only to find the oversoul was already there waiting for them.

A thousand espers filled the sky above them, eyes shining like suns, hidden until now behind their own shields, their gestalt mind a barrier the ELFs could never hope to breach. And as the ELFs hesitated, lost and unsure, the Paragons on the street below drew their disrupters, took aim, and opened fire. The ELFs didn’t even have the time to curse Finn Durandal’s name before the energy bolts hit them. The oversoul had overpowered the ELFs’ shields and shut them down, and they were defenseless. Energy beams punched through chests and backs and vaporized heads, and dead and dying ELFs plummeted from the sky.

A handful drew on the last of their strength to dodge the disrupter fire with inhuman speed. They dropped to the ground, drew swords and daggers, and cut viciously about them as they tried to disappear into the panicking crowds. The ELFs knew the Paragons wouldn’t shoot into the crowd to get them. They were weak that way. But the oversoul could still see them. They protected the civilians with force shields, and forced the ELFs out into the open again. Only six ELFs were left now, out of thirty-two. And Lewis Deathstalker, Finn Durandal, and Emma Steel went forward, swords in hand, faces grim, to finish them off.

It was all over very quickly. A massive defeat for the ELF cause, broadcast live across the Empire.

All thanks to Finn Durandal.

King Douglas arrived soon after to congratulate the Paragons; the heroes of the day once more. The reassembled crowds cheered and shouted themselves hoarse, and beat their hands together till they ached. They even cheered the oversoul, hanging like benevolent angels on the sky above them. Douglas greeted Finn and Emma and Lewis warmly, shaking their hands and clapping them on the shoulder. He turned to address the cameras and the crowd, and immediately everyone fell silent.

“My friends, the victims of the Arena tragedy have been avenged. The rogue esper terrorists are dead. All of this, because of one man. Finn Durandal! Who has spent the last few weeks working undercover to courageously infiltrate the ELF underground on his own. Who discovered their terrible plan to attack this city, and arranged the Parade of the Paragons as the perfect bait to tempt the ELFs into a trap. Finn worked with security and myself to turn this trap back upon the ELFs, and now the Paragons have dealt the ELFs a blow from which they will never recover! All honor to Finn Durandal!”

The crowd went wild, while Finn hung his head modestly and even managed a little blush. The King held up his hands, and the crowd hushed again. He announced the great Quest of the Paragons, to be led by Lewis Deathstalker, to search for the missing Owen of blessed memory, and bring him back home to deal with the Terror. And the crowd went crazy. Eventually the Parade was able to set off again, and the city cheered the Paragons hysterically all the way to the far boundary.

Afterwards, King Douglas invited Finn Durandal into his private chambers at the Court, and presented Finn with his own personal esp-blocker. To protect him from any future attacks by the rogue espers. This was a rare and singular honor, since the use of esp-blockers was normally closely regulated, and Finn was suitably gracious in his thanks. Even though it was what he’d intended all along. He’d achieved a lot for one day. Destroyed or at least severely weakened a major rival power base. Reestablished himself as great and beloved hero in the eyes of the public and the King, and acquired his own esp-blocker. Which meant no one could read his mind anymore. He could plot and conspire and betray in perfect security.

When he left the Court, he was laughing softly. Though Douglas didn’t know it, he had just presented his greatest enemy with the means necessary to bring him down. Finn laughed all the way home.

A
mbassadors’ Row was actually set right in the middle of the business district, and from the outside the various Embassies seemed like just another series of brightly shining office buildings. All very smart, quietly elegant, deliberately anonymous. The various residents didn’t give a damn about tourists, or being media friendly. Ambassadors’ Row was a place where people went quietly, often in disguise, to make the kind of deals that couldn’t be made openly in Parliament. Favors and information and sometimes technology were traded, bargains were made in good and bad faith, and secrets were jealously guarded. Investigative reporters were shot at on sight, and the ever-present security measures were unobtrusive but mercilessly efficient.