Deathstalker Legacy (68 page)

“Sorcerer. Told you. Tell everyone, but no one ever listens. Maybe I should have cards made out. Buy one spell, get one free.”

“Vaughn,” Lewis said slowly. “Who are you? Really?”

“Wrong question. Chevron; talk to him. Tell him what he needs to know. We have time, before guards come. Maybe not, afterwards.”

“I know a way out of here,” said Samuel Chevron. “I’ll get you both clear of the Tower, and then you need to go to the Dust Plains of Memory. They’re all that remains of the original Central Computer Matrix of Golgotha, from Lionstone’s time. King Robert and Queen Constance shut the Matrix down when they came to power. It held far too much data that would have contradicted the myths they were so anxious to create. Besides; they were frightened of it. There were ghosts in the Matrix, things moving among the data streams that had no business being there. Shub claimed they put them there, but if they did, they didn’t control them anymore.

“So Robert and Constance took what information they needed, put it in a new central depository, and then arranged for the old Matrix to be very thoroughly destroyed. But, unknown to them and practically everyone else, the old Matrix had some very sophisticated self-repair and self-preservation systems. You could have nuked the Matrix, and it would have survived. With a little help from the AIs of Shub, who disapproved on principle of destroying data, what remained of the old Matrix transferred itself to what remained of Lionstone’s old Palace, in its steel bunker deep in the bedrock under the city, still powered by its geothermal tap. It’s still here, known now as the Dust Plains of Memory; an oracle and depository for forgotten and forbidden knowledge. Available only to a chosen few. Luckily the Dust Plains owe me a few favors. You’ll need a password to gain admittance. I’ll give it to you once we’re safely out of here. You never know who might be listening.”

“You don’t mind them knowing about the Dust Plains,” said Jesamine.

“Everyone who matters already knows,” said Chevron. “There are a lot of things the movers and shakers of this Empire know, that are kept from everyone else.”

“Hold everything,” said Lewis. “How do you know all this, sir Chevron? All right, you were a good friend to King William, and a valued adviser, but . . . where did a retired simple trader like you’re supposed to be learn to fight like
that
?”

“Because I’m not Samuel Chevron. Never was, really. And no; we don’t have time to discuss that now. I’ll give you directions on how to get to the Dust Plains once we’re out of here. You’ll find a lot of answers there, though you probably won’t like most of them. The truth always has sharp edges. Robert and Constance knew that, which was why they chose legend instead of history to build their new Golden Age on. Though it has to be said; Robert, good soldier that he was, never did have much time for wonders and mysteries.”

“Would these . . . computers, have information on the current whereabouts of the blessed Owen and his companions?” said Lewis. “Or about the origins of the Terror?”

“Don’t call him that,” said Chevron. “He was just a good man, who did his best in bad times. He never wanted to be a hero, poor bastard. Perhaps because he always knew most heroes die young. As for the Dust Plains . . . you’ll be surprised what they know. But in the end . . . you have to go to Haden, Lewis. To the Madness Maze. All the answers to all the questions of your life are waiting for you there. You have to pass through the Maze, Deathstalker. It is your destiny.”

“No!” Jesamine said immediately. “You can’t, Lewis! The Maze kills people and drives them crazy!”

“Sometimes,” said Chevron. “No one knows exactly what the Maze is. It’s supposed to be of alien origin; perhaps its nature is just too alien for most humans to comprehend or cope with. But still; this is something you have to do, Lewis.”

“He’s right,” Lewis said gently to Jesamine. “Too many people want me dead. I can’t survive as I am. And I have to go through the Maze, to prove myself; to the Empire, and to myself. It’s part of being a Deathstalker.”

Jesamine looked back at Chevron. “It’s easy to send other people off to die, for what you believe in. Will you be coming with us, to Haden?”

“I can’t. Not just yet. Maybe later. There are things I need to do here first. I should have known just changing the name from Golgotha to Logres wouldn’t be enough to wipe the slate clean. This world and its people have always been rotten at the heart. I believed in a new beginning because . . . well, because I wanted to. But now; I have to find out how deep the rot goes. I have watched over the homeworld of the Empire for longer than you can imagine. They said it was a Golden Age, and I was so tired I believed it, and retired. I should have known better. I, of all people.”

“Enough,” said Vaughn. “Enough, old friend.”

Lewis was ready to hit both of them with a whole bunch of probing questions when they all heard the sound of approaching running feet. Lots of them. Lewis just had time to step forward and put himself between Jesamine and whatever was coming, and then a small army of heavily armed guards came crashing into the corridor. Energy bolts crisscrossed on the air as everyone opened fire, and then the two forces slammed together, and everyone was fighting. Once again, close quarters meant cold steel and hot blood. Lewis stood his ground, and hacked about him with his sword, cutting down any man foolish enough to come within reach, while Jesamine guarded his back with a short sword she’d taken off a nearby body on the floor. Vaughn had no weapon, or at least nothing obvious, but somehow everyone who threatened him died. Sometimes they killed themselves with looks of horror on their faces.

And Samuel Chevron, or whoever he really was . . . was a revelation.

He moved like a man half his age or less, wielding his long and brutal sword as though it was weightless, shearing through necks and limbs alike. He moved through the crush of fighting men impossibly quickly, and no one could stand against him. He was faster and stronger than any man had a right to be, and guards fell dead and dying at his feet with appalling speed and ease. His sword rose and fell, and he wasn’t even breathing hard. Lewis was a practiced fighter, a warrior in his own right, but he was nothing compared to Chevron. Lewis watched Chevron butcher the guards, and felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

Soon enough none of the guards would go up against Chevron, and some turned and ran rather than face him. That was all the excuse the other guards needed, and in a matter of moments it was a rout, and they were all running. All except one. A woman who would never run. A latecomer, a Paragon. Emma Steel. She stood alone in the corridor, surrounded by the dead, her sword held steadily out before her, looking from Lewis to Chevron and back again.

“Don’t do this, Emma,” Lewis said finally. “Things aren’t as they seem. I’m no traitor. You know this isn’t right.”

“You’ve killed good men. And you’re here. With her,” said Emma, not lowering her sword an inch.

“We love each other. But that shouldn’t be enough to condemn us to death, without even a trial. Come on, Emma; the stuff they found in my computers was bullshit. I’ve served the Empire all my life, but now it seems I can only serve it by opposing it. Or at least, by opposing some of the people running it. Let us go, Emma. We don’t have to fight. That’s what
they
want. Let us leave. We’ll go offworld. Join the Quest. Search for Owen, and for information we can use to stop the Terror.”

“Can’t do that, Lewis,” said Emma. “You wouldn’t either, in my position. We both understand what duty is all about. Drop your weapons and surrender. If what you say is true, I’ll help you prove it.”

“We wouldn’t live that long,” said Lewis. “Those guards had orders to kill us. Silence us. You side with us, and they’ll kill you too.”

“Do you even know how paranoid that sounds? This isn’t Lionstone’s Empire! Surrender, or fight your way past me, if you can. Because the only way you’re getting out of here is over my dead body.”

“Your heart isn’t in this,” said Lewis, not moving.

“Perhaps it isn’t. But I know my duty. What it is to be a Paragon.”

“Paragons,” said Chevron. “One of my better ideas. Though Robert took some convincing, as I recall. People like you give me faith, Emma. No one else needs to die today.”

He darted forward impossibly quickly, his movements a blur. He slapped Emma’s sword aside with his bare hand, knocked her unconscious with a single blow, and caught her slumped body in his arms while her legs were still giving way. He lowered her gently and respectfully to the floor, and then straightened up again to find Lewis and Jesamine staring at him incredulously.

“What the hell are you?”
said Lewis.

“I often wonder that myself,” said the man who wasn’t Samuel Chevron.

 

Brett Random was still looking for Rose Constantine, on Finn’s orders. He’d been looking for some time now, and was getting seriously worried. Partly because of what Finn would do to him if he didn’t find Rose soon, but mostly because Brett always got severely nervous when Rose was out of his sight for too long. She had appallingly violent impulses, and a complete lack of inhibitions when it came to following them. Rose was not a civilized creature, and without the Arena to satisfy her murderous needs, God alone knew what she’d been up to all this time. Brett had thought she’d been warming to him, and his company (scary though that thought was), but clearly something had tempted her away. He didn’t have a clue what. Rose had no hobbies, or outside interests. She just got off on killing people. (
Fighting is sex, and murder is orgasm,
she’d said. If she said it one more time, Brett thought he’d scream.)

He’d tried the Arena again, but she still hadn’t showed up there. The people he’d talked to had actually sounded quite relieved when they said it. The Wild Rose upset even hardened gladiators. Brett kept checking in on the official peacekeeper comm channels, but no new serial killings had been reported, no unusual signs of bloody carnage, unexpected atrocities, or big arson cases; so whatever Rose was doing, it hadn’t surfaced yet. Unless she was in the Rookery, where such things tended not to be reported to outsiders . . .

He was reluctantly making a list of places in the Rookery to work through when Rose contacted him. Only a very few people had the access codes to his comm implant, and he sat up sharply as Rose’s voice sounded in his head. She sounded as calm as ever, but it was immediately clear she wasn’t interested in conversation. She just gave him the name and location of a bar in the Rookery, and told him to get there fast. Brett knew the place, by reputation at least. Upmarket, currently fashionable, heavy on the style and extremely expensive. Certainly not the first place he would have looked for Rose.

“What’s the matter?” he said tentatively. “Forget your credit card again?”

“I need you here, Brett. There’s something here you just have to see.”

“Not really your sort of place, I would have thought . . .”

“It is now. Shut up and come to me, Brett. You need to see this.”

And then she broke contact. Brett bit his lip, frowning. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved that she’d finally turned up or not.
You need to see this
had distinctly ominous overtones. Brett wasn’t sure he wanted to see the kind of things Rose might find interesting. But in the end, he didn’t have a choice. Finn wanted her back. So he went into the Rookery to fetch her, his stomach aching miserably every step of the way.

 

When he got there, he stopped outside the bar and looked cautiously around him. The street seemed quiet and peaceful. None of the usual signs of Rose enjoying herself, like people running back and forth screaming. The bar’s exterior consisted of a closed door and two opaqued windows. The Wild Wood was big on privacy; a watering hole and meeting place for people on the make and on the way up. Brett was frankly surprised Rose even knew such a place existed. He couldn’t think what might have brought her here. He just hoped no one had tried to pick her up. Finn wouldn’t take kindly to have to pay damages to keep things quiet
again.
Brett took a deep breath, and walked up to the closed door.

The door turned out to be standing just a little ajar, all the security locks disengaged. The first hint that something was seriously wrong. You didn’t get into a place like this without knowing the right things to say through the door comm. The door was always locked to riffraff, and there were always big and burly security men standing by to back up the management’s decision. Brett slowly pushed the door open, and looked inside. The foyer beyond was deserted. It was eerily quiet. No signs of security or reception staff anywhere. Not even a cloakroom attendant. Where the hell was everybody? Maybe they all took one look at Rose and ran away screaming? Brett could understand that. He walked slowly through the foyer, his back tensed and his shoulders hunched, half convinced someone was going to jump out at him at any moment. He finally came to the closed inner doors, pushed them open, and stepped through into the bar itself.

And walked into Hell.

Brett lurched to a sudden halt, whimpering loudly, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. The close air stank of blood and spilled guts and death. Rose had killed everyone in the bar. Forty, maybe fifty men and women, customers and staff, all of them butchered. And when she’d finished with them, Rose had sat them at their tables, and propped them up at the bar, like some hideous bloody still-life scene. Some even had drinks in their dead hands. There was blood everywhere, soaking the floor, splashed across the walls, and even sprayed across the ceiling. She’d even killed the bartender, and pinned him to the wall behind the bar with his own long corkscrew.

Brett stood very still, afraid to draw attention to himself. Everywhere he looked, dead faces looked back at him, with staring eyes and contorted bloody mouths. One of them moved suddenly, and he almost screamed. It was Rose, sitting on a stool at the bar, calmly drinking something fizzy from a tall glass. With a dead man and a dead woman propped up on either side of her. Rose nodded to Brett, and indicated casually for him to come over and join her. Brett couldn’t have moved if she’d pointed a gun at his head. It took him several tries before he could even speak.