Deathstalker War (54 page)

Frost had pulled herself free from the enveloping cloak just in time to see Silence fall. She ignored the fleeing rebels, and the shocked, stammering Stelmach, and hurried over to kneel beside Silence. The energy beam had torn away most of his left rib cage. He’d wrapped his arms around himself, as though he could hold his body together through sheer strength. Frost gently pulled his arms away so she could see the extent of the wound. Blackened stubs of ribs showed clearly in the steaming wound, half-cauterized by the energy beam. Behind them, Stelmach was babbling about its being a mistake, and he was sorry, so sorry, but neither of them was listening. Silence’s face was utterly white, and he was breathing in quick, shallow gasps. Anyone else would have been dead by now, from the shock alone. Frost grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard.

“Captain, listen to me! You’re not going to die. There’s a power in you, in us. Use it! John, dammit, you can heal yourself!”

She concentrated, focusing on the power deep within her, forcing it to the surface and on into Silence. He gasped once, and then his hand clamped down hard on hers, and he straightened up, his eyes wide and startled. They both looked down at the great wound in his side, and watched speechlessly as the flesh and bone and skin knitted themselves seamlessly together until there was no trace of the wound left. Silence took a deep, experimental breath, bracing himself for pain that never came, and then he grinned suddenly at Frost. She grinned back, and together they got to their feet again. Stelmach was standing over them with his mouth hanging open.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” he said finally.

“Neither did I,” said Silence. “Learn something new every day.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, I’m really sorry . . .”

Silence raised a hand to stop him. “Apologies accepted. But from now on, Stelmach, if we get in a fight again, don’t help me.” He turned to Frost. Her smile was gone, and she was a calm, collected Investigator again.

“Welcome back, Captain. Always knew you were too mean to die.”

“Glad to be back, Investigator. Which way did the rebels go?”

“Deeper into the woods, Captain. Should be an easy trail to follow. The Deathstalker’s leaking a lot of blood. Do you feel up to chasing them?”

“I think so. But there’s no hurry. There’s only one place they can go now, and that’s the Deathstalker Standing. And once he’s there, we’ve got him.”

Kit SummerIsle eased the wounded Deathstalker down onto his bed and looked around the luxuriously appointed bedchamber. There was only the one door and the one window, which made it easier to defend the room against attackers. For the moment, the Standing was under the control of people loyal to David, but unfortunately the Steward had made his escape with most of his people, and they were probably already linking up with the invading Empire forces. It wouldn’t be long before they came knocking at the front door. David lay back on his bed, gasping for breath. One of the servants had wrapped his gut in layer upon layer of bandages, but there was no doctor. Blood was already seeping through the bandages and staining the expensive bedsheets. Kit sat on the edge of the bed and wondered what to do next.

He could just leave. He could. The Deathstalker had been outlawed, but he hadn’t. He could just leave the Standing, walk up to the nearest Empire forces, and claim the protection his rank entitled him to. The Captain and the Investigator he’d fought earlier might make a fuss, but he could always claim he’d acted in self-defense, and, as a Lord, no one would doubt his word. But the thought didn’t tempt him long. He couldn’t abandon David.

The Deathstalker groaned suddenly as he sat up, and Kit was quickly there to support him. David’s face was grey now, lined with pain and fatigue, but his eyes were clear. His gaze went to his sword, lying on the bed close at hand, and he seemed to draw some strength from that. He gestured at the viewscreen on the wall before him.

“Turn on the screen,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “I need to know what’s happening on my world.”

“You should be resting,” said Kit. “We might have to leave here in a hurry, if the Steward comes back with enough troops to storm the Standing.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said David. “This is my home, the home of my ancestors, and I will go no farther. I’ll make my stand here. Now turn on the damn viewscreen.”

Kit shrugged and turned on the screen, and together the rebel Lords watched a montage of terrible scenes on the invaded world of Virimonde. Everywhere, buildings were burning. In villages, towns, cities. The dead lay piled in the fields like some dark, ugly crop. Long lines of refugees filed away into the countryside, carrying what was left of their homes and lives on their backs. There was still some resistance. The underground had been established here for many years. They had training and some weapons, but not enough to face experienced ground troops and Imperial war machines. But still the rebels fought on, outnumbered and outgunned, making the Empire forces pay for every foot of ground they gained. David watched his people fight and die, staining the ground they fought for with their own blood and that of their enemies. He saw Imperial marines marching through gutted villages, and massive war machines resting in the ruins of devastated cities, and finally he had to look away. Kit turned the viewscreen off.

“There’s only one thing I can do,” David said finally.

“Right,” said Kit. “Grab everything we can sell, and make a run for it. There’s bound to be someone we can bribe to get us offplanet. Then, I don’t know. Mistworld, maybe?”

“No,” said David. “I told you; I won’t run. I’m going to surrender.”

“What? Are you crazy? The best you could hope for would be a show trial and a swift execution. At least on Mistworld . . .”

“No! No. If I surrender, and tell the rebels to lay down their arms, the fighting will end. My people will be safe. Too many have died, Kit. Why prolong the agonies? All that matters now is to protect my people in the only way left to me.”

Kit glared at him. “When did you get so damn noble? They’re just peasants!”

“No,” said David. “They’re my peasants. The bond of duty and obligation that ties us together works both ways. I never really understood that before.” He smiled sadly. “It’s taken a long time, but I think I finally understand what it is, to be a Deathstalker. Turn the screen back on. See if you can raise someone in charge.”

Kit saw the determination in his friend’s face, and stopped arguing. It turned out to be surprisingly easy to raise the man in charge of the invasion. General Shaw Beckett on the Imperial starcruiser
Elegance
looked out of the screen at the two rebel Lords, and bowed formally.

“My Lord Deathstalker, my Lord SummerIsle, good to hear from you. Forgive my bluntness, David, but you don’t look too good.”

“I’m still here, General.” David kept his voice calm and even. “I wish to offer my surrender.”

“Very noble of you, David. I appreciate the gesture.” Beckett scowled unhappily. “Unfortunately, I have new orders from the Empress herself not to accept your surrender, on any terms. She wants you dead, David, and the rebellion crushed. My troops took holocameras down with them. People all over the Empire are watching the invasion of Virimonde live. The Empress intends for this to be an example. I’m sorry. I can offer some protection to your friend, the SummerIsle, if you wish. I have no direct orders for his death. I give you my word . . .”

“I’ll think about it,” said Kit.

The General nodded slowly. “Don’t think too long, my lord.”

David smiled tiredly at the General. “Then I don’t suppose we have anything left to say to each other, do we, Shaw? Destiny has shaped a path for both of us, and all we can do is follow them to their ends. Pardon me if I don’t wish you good luck.”

“Understood, my lord.” General Beckett saluted him. “Die well, Deathstalker.”

His face disappeared from the viewscreen and Kit shut it off. He looked at David. “Lie down again. Get some rest. You’ve got to think of a way out of this for us. You’re the brains in this partnership, remember?”

“He was right, Kit. You don’t have to stay here.”

“Yes I do.”

They smiled at each other. David put out a hand to Kit. The SummerIsle took it in both of his, and grasped it tightly. The Deathstalker’s hand was clammy, and cold as death. David lay back on the bed again, with Kit’s help. The whole of his side was soaked in blood now. Kit still held his hand. There was a commotion outside. Kit let go of David’s hand, and went over to look out the window. Outside the main gate, the Steward had returned with his men and a small army of Imperial troops, led by the Lord High Dram, and Captain Silence and Investigator Frost.

Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn ran down a narrow street, the buildings burning to either side like giant balefires under the blood-streaked sky. The air was thick with dirty black smoke and floating cinders, and so hot it burned their bare hands and faces. Flynn’s camera bobbed along above them, getting the best shots it could, and transmitting them live. High above, Imperial warships rained down destruction, energy beams from ranked disrupter cannon blowing buildings apart and collapsing streets. People were running everywhere, all with some kind of weapon in their hands. Toby had given up trying to keep track of where he was. One burning town looked much like another. And everywhere he went, he had to step over the dead. Men, women, and children lay in anonymous, blood-soaked bundles, cut down and hacked apart, or burning from the touch of an energy beam. Toby had never seen slaughter like it. Lionstone must have gone insane. This had gone far beyond punishment for rebellion, or an example to discourage others. Nothing could justify human butchery like this. It occurred to him now and again that he must be getting really good coverage. No one had ever filmed an invasion from this close before. He just hoped someone was watching. He wouldn’t put it past the Empire ships to jam all signals but their own. Toby scowled as he ran, despite his tiredness. He hated to think this was all for nothing.

He never saw the explosion that took out the building beside him. All he knew was that there was a sound like thunder, and then something picked him up and threw him down the street. He hit the cobbled ground hard, his clothes tearing, and then he tried to protect his head with his arms, as shattered brickwork came tumbling down around him. Bricks bounced off his back and arms and legs and he cried out, his voice lost in the roar of destruction around him. Finally it stopped, and Toby cautiously raised his head and looked about him. Half the street was in ruins. Flynn lay not far away, his camera hovering over him. The cameraman was half-buried under collapsed brickwork. Toby forced himself back onto his feet and staggered over to Flynn. His ears were ringing, his hands were trembling, and his legs felt like they belonged to someone else, but he fought it all back as he bent over Flynn.
Oh God, don’t be dead, Flynn. Please don’t be dead. I didn’t bring you here to die.
He found a pulse in Flynn’s neck and relaxed a little. He started pulling the bricks away, one at a time. There seemed to be no end to them.

He’d barely made a start when a company of Imperial marines came trotting down the street, guns at the ready. The Sergeant saw Toby and turned his gun in his direction. Toby stuck both his arms in the air.

“Don’t shoot! I’m a reporter, covering the invasion!”

The Sergeant sniffed disappointedly and gestured for his men to lower their guns and come to a stop. He glowered down at Toby. “What are you doing here? You people are supposed to have cleared this area by now.”

“My cameraman’s trapped here,” said Toby, cautiously lowering his hands. “Help me dig him out, and we’ll get the hell out of your way.”

“Anything to get you out of my hair. I don’t know why the Empress wanted you here in the first place.”

The Sergeant gestured to the nearest marines, and half a dozen of them helped Toby pull away the rest of the bricks covering Flynn. And only then did Toby discover that either the force of the explosion or the sharp edges of the broken bricks had ripped Flynn’s clothes apart, revealing for all to see the lacy black feminine underwear he wore beneath them. The stockings and garter belt were particularly fetching. The six marines backed away quickly, while their friends made lewd jokes and unsavory comments. Toby thought fast.

“They’re his good-luck charms! They belonged to a female colleague of his, who he was very close to, and since she died, he wears them to remind him of her, and bring him good luck. Really. Lots of cameramen do it. It’s an old tradition among news crews.”

“Shut your face,” said the Sergeant. “And that goes for you men, too. There’s no way a freak like this could have qualified for the army news corp. Which means you two are here illegally. Probably rebels as well as degenerates.”

“Of course we’re not rebels! Look, I’m Toby Shreck! You must have seen my work!”

“I’ve seen it.” The Sergeant looked at his men. “Shoot them both.”

Toby stood frozen in a moment that seemed to last forever. He had nothing to defend himself with, and there was nowhere to run. Even if he could bring himself to abandon Flynn. He watched helplessly as the marines turned their guns on him, and all he could think was that he hoped the camera was getting a good view of this. And then his jaw dropped as the Sergeant and all his marines simultaneously burst into flames. The marines dropped their weapons and staggered back and froth, beating at the flames with their bare hands and screaming shrilly as the fires rose up to consume them. One by one they fell to the ground as the flames stole the oxygen from their lungs, and they lay kicking and twitching as their flesh blackened and cooked, their hair burning with a bright blue flame. And then two women with the same face stepped out of the shadows, and Toby realized what had happened. The Stevie Blues had come to the rescue again.

He grunted a quick thanks and bent over Flynn, who was dazedly trying to sit up. The Blues hauled him up onto his feet and hurried him down the street, with Toby sticking close behind them. Even in the chaos of a town on fire, people still had the sense to get out of the way of the Stevie Blues. They made good time, despite having to dodge roving companies of Imperial marines, hurrying down a series of narrow side streets that all looked the same to Toby, until finally they ended up before an anonymous door in a fairly untouched area. Stevie Three hammered on the door with her fist, and a sliding panel opened, revealing a pair of suspicious eyes. Stevie Three glared right back at them, and the panel slammed shut. There was the sound of locks turning and bolts being pulled back, and then the door opened, and the Stevies led Toby and Flynn inside. The door slammed shut behind them.