Deathstalker War (58 page)

Alexander Storm, that old and tired man, had been a part of the rebellion most of his life. As a young man he’d fought at Jack’s side in battles beyond counting. Once a brilliant swordsman and a laughing adventurer, a hero almost as famous as Random, he was now weighed down with age and bitterness, and concentrated his remaining energies in helping to determine the underground’s policies and strategies. And if he was jealous that his old friend Jack had somehow grown young and vital again, and he had not, he kept it to himself. Mostly.

And finally, there were Young Jack Random and Psycho Jenny. They stood together some distance away from the others, because no one else would stand next to them. And even they did their best to ignore each other. Young Jack had arrived on the scene out of nowhere, claiming to be the real professional rebel, and it had to be said he looked the part. Tall and powerful in his silver battle armor chased with gold, he positively radiated strength and wisdom, and his charisma almost outshone the overhead lights. Every inch the hero, people followed him almost instinctively, even into the most impossible of situations. Unbeatable with a sword in his hand, he charged barricades and mounted daring rescues with verve and courage and a constant dazzling smile. Already he was being hailed as the savior of Mistport during the invasion, as though he’d single-handedly turned back the Empire’s invasion forces. Owen and Hazel could have told a different story, had they chosen, but they kept their peace. The rebellion needed its heroes to inspire the masses.

It still wasn’t clear which of the two Randoms was the real one. They were both powerful fighters and cunning strategists. So the underground, expedient as ever, made use of both of them.

Jenny Psycho was a different matter. The Empire had broken something deep inside her, and it had healed crookedly. But then she was touched by the enigmatic uber-esper, Mater Mundi, and now Jenny Psycho was very powerful indeed. Her presence all but crackled on the air around her, like a thunderstorm waiting to happen. She lived only for revenge, relying on the rebellion to give her focus and purpose. She’d had another name once, and another life, but that seemed a long time ago, and most of the time she barely remembered the minor esper called Diana Vertue.

Owen Deathstalker looked about him unobtrusively, studying his companions thoughtfully. It seemed they’d all changed dramatically in the short time they’d been apart. Jack Random looked thirty years younger, and tough enough to chew up tin cans and spit nails. He looked a lot more like Young Jack, but there was still a clear difference. There was something almost inhuman about Young Jack’s unwavering heroism, as though he was really a character from some holoaction drama, stepped out of the viewscreen and into reality with his charisma intact. Unlike his previously older self, Young Jack came across as though he’d never had a doubt or a failure in his life. Besides, he smiled too much. Owen didn’t trust anyone who smiled a lot. It wasn’t natural, not in this day and age. He still didn’t have a clue who the hell Young Jack might really be, but he kept his suspicions to himself. If the man was an impostor, he was damned convincing, and the underground needed heroes to lead the masses into battle.

Even out-on-the-edge weirdos like Jenny Psycho. Owen worried about her. The espers would follow her blindly, just because she had once manifested the Mater Mundi, Our Mother of All Souls. They saw her as a saint now. A crazy saint, but none the less holy for that. And there was no denying she was powerful as hell. When Jenny really let loose, reality trembled. But with someone as maltreated and disturbed as Jenny Psycho, the balance of her mind was only a sometime thing now, and it was only a matter of time before she broke apart along the stress lines. Owen had already decided that when that happened, he wanted to be really far away.

Ruby Journey . . . looked as disturbing as ever. If she hadn’t been Hazel’s longtime friend, Owen thought he would probably have shot her on general principles by now. Having Ruby around was like sharing a very confined space with a paranoid attack dog that had slipped its leash. The best you could really hope for with Ruby Journey was to point her in the right direction and then follow the trail of bodies.

What Jack Random saw in her remained a mystery to Owen. Perhaps the man just liked living dangerously. There was no denying he’d been through some amazing changes. It was as though his body had turned back time, denying the passing years to become young and vital again. Owen wondered if aging was a thing of the past for all of them now, since they’d been altered by the Madness Maze. And if so, how long they might all live . . . Owen tried to visualize a future life stretching endlessly away before him, forever young, and then he smiled and shook his head. Much more likely they’d all be slaughtered down on Golgotha. Get through that first, and he’d worry about eternity later. He made himself concentrate on Random. The professional rebel looked sharp and deadly, eager to throw himself headlong into a battle he’d been looking forward to all his life. Despite himself, Owen worried about that, too. Such determination tended to be dangerously single-minded. Sometimes Owen thought Jack Random would walk right over the body of his best friend to reach the victory he craved.

Owen felt guilty thinking such things about his friends and comrades, but his discovery on Mistworld of how little he’d really understood about Hazel had started him thinking, and he couldn’t seem to stop. It seemed they all had obsessions and private agendas, and the old togetherness that the Maze had gifted them with seemed to have vanished during their separation. He could still feel their presence around him, but he could no longer sense what they were thinking or feeling. The closeness that had them finishing each other’s thoughts and sentences was gone. They were no longer linked, mind to mind, as though what they’d been through on their various missions had changed them so much they weren’t the same people anymore.

He could still feel the Maze’s power, burning brightly within them, and no more so than in his ancestor Giles. Owen studied the man thoughtfully, his hand unconsciously dropping to the sword at his side. Giles was still scowling at the view on the screen, lost in his own thoughts, ignoring the others. Of them all, Giles had seemed the most reluctant to investigate or use the powers the Maze had bestowed on him. As though they were a necessary evil, only to be used when there was no other choice. On the one occasion Owen had raised the matter with him, Giles had said curtly it was enough to be a Deathstalker, and that was the end of that conversation. Owen and Giles had always found it difficult to talk. They came from very different times and backgrounds, for all their shared name, and it seemed the only thing they had in common was the rebellion. Giles had briefly tried to be a father figure to Owen, after he had to kill his own estranged son, the original Dram, but Owen had put a stop to that. He’d had enough of his real father trying to run his life. He was his own man, and if the life he’d made for himself wasn’t quite what he’d expected or intended, it was still his, and he guarded it jealously.

And even beyond that, there were the quiet niggling suspicions that murmured at the back of Owen’s mind and wouldn’t be silenced. He couldn’t help thinking that Giles often seemed to be remarkably well informed on the current situation, for a man who had supposedly spent the last 943 years in stasis . . . He pushed the thought aside, for the moment, and moved over to join his ancestor beside the viewscreen.

“How does it feel to be home again, after so long?” he said quietly. “Is it what you expected?”

“No,” said Giles, just as quietly, not looking away from the screen. “Almost a thousand years have passed since I last saw Golgotha, but it seems like only yesterday to me. Everyone I ever knew or cared for down there is long dead and gone to dust. Instead, the place is overrun with clones and espers, the Families have grown soft or corrupt or insane, and the Empire . . . the Empire I remember no longer exists. I feel like a ghost, fighting a ghost’s old battles, not noticing that the world has moved on without me. The Empire was falling apart even in my day, but I never dreamed it would end up like this. I don’t know whether to save it or put it out of its misery. It’s like a sick distortion of everything I ever believed in. But I will put things right. I will wake the people from the nightmare of history and rebuild the Empire as it should be.”

“With a little help from your friends,” Owen said lightly.

Giles looked at him for the first time, his solid, lined face impassive. “Of course, kinsman. I couldn’t have come this far alone. You and your friends have made all this possible. I’ll never forget you. Now, time for a conference, I think, before the battle begins and we all go rushing off in different directions. It may be some time before we can talk again.”

“What’s there to talk about?” said Ruby, calmly manicuring her nails with the edge of an evil-looking dagger. “We go down, kill everything in a uniform, grab as much loot as we can carry, and then race to see who gets to kill Lionstone. My kind of party.”

“There are things we need to discuss,” Giles said stubbornly. “The Madness Maze changed us all, but apparently in different ways. According to the reports you filed since you returned, and Ruby, I’m still waiting for yours, it would seem our . . . abilities have been developing in different ways. I have learned to teleport. Owen has become a psychokinetic. Jack and Ruby have manifested pyrokinetic abilities. And Hazel can summon alternative versions of herself from different timelines. I don’t even pretend to understand how that works. None of this is what I expected.”

“Why shouldn’t we have changed in different ways?” said Random. “We’re different people. And what do we really know about the Maze? That it was probably an alien artifact, that no one knows how old it might have been, or what its original purpose was, and that the last people to go through it created the Hadenmen. Not much to go on, is it?”

“Unless you know more about it than you’ve been letting on,” said Hazel. “How about it, Giles? You been holding out on us?”

“Of course not,” said Giles. “I did study it briefly, before I was hounded away to Shandrakor, but I never did understand its purpose. I’m not sure if anything human could. Now that it’s gone, I don’t suppose we’ll ever know. What matters is that we have all been bestowed marvelous gifts, and it’s up to us to try and understand them. Contrary to Ruby’s comments, the fighting down on Golgotha isn’t going to be easy or straightforward. Lionstone’s got a whole army of Security people down there, plus the various armed forces, plus whatever nasty surprises she has set in place for just such an occasion as this. Never underestimate a ruler’s paranoia. Lionstone always knew a day like this might come, and you can bet she’s got plans in place to frustrate us.”

“Damn,” said Hazel. “He makes even longer speeches than you do, Owen. Must run in the Family.”

“Is there a point in all this?” said Random. “I would prefer to go down and get involved before it’s all over.”

“The point,” said Giles, “is that we need to split up. Spread our talents as widely as possible, hit Lionstone on as many fronts as possible.”

“Hold everything,” said Owen. “We’ve always been strongest together. Remember the force shield we raised on the Wolfling World? That was strong enough to stand off massed disrupter cannon at point-blank range. And Hazel and I worked miracles together on Mistworld. Who knows what we might be capable of if we all stuck together?”

“We don’t have the time to experiment,” Giles said flatly. “The rebellion needs us now. I’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“Without consulting us,” said Ruby.

“Right,” said Random. “When was all this planning going on? The rest of us have been working our asses off on our missions.”

“I don’t sleep much,” said Giles. “Now pay attention, please. We need to split into the following groups . . .”

“I’m not happy about this,” said Hazel. “The last time we let the underground split us up, David and the SummerIsle went off on their own. Now David’s dead, and Kid Death’s joined the opposition.”

“I miss David,” Owen said suddenly. “I never really got to know him, and now I never will, but I miss him now he’s gone. I’m the last of the direct line. The last of the Deathstalkers.”

“That’s not what’s upsetting you,” said Hazel. “You’re just angry because since Virimonde’s been destroyed, you can’t go home again. You can never have your old life back. That’s all you ever really wanted out of this rebellion, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” said Owen. “Maybe. I never wanted to be a warrior. I was happy, being a scholar and an historian, with no pressures and no responsibilities. But I wouldn’t go back, even if I could. I’ve seen too much. And David . . . he was a pain in the ass, but he had potential. There was so much I could have taught him . . . and now he’s gone. Murdered by Kit SummerIsle. The same smiling bastard who killed my father. Whatever happens down below, the SummerIsle is mine.”

“Good,” said Giles approvingly. “You’re starting to sound like a Deathstalker. You’ve come a long way, historian.”

“And if I don’t always like what I’ve made of myself, whom do I blame?” said Owen. “Sometimes I think I’ve become everything I ever hated. A man of violence, driven by revenge. Just another pawn in my father’s plots and schemes to bring down the Empress. Just another barbarian at the gates of Empire.”

There was an awkward silence, broken by an urgent chiming from the viewscreen. Giles switched to the new incoming signal, and Golgotha disappeared, replaced by Finlay Campbell, Evangeline Shreck, and Julian Skye, their faces filling the screen. They looked harried.

“What’s holding you people up?” said Finlay, not bothering with any amenities. “We need you down here now. Everything’s gone to hell in a handcart in the Parade of the Endless, the one city above all we have to hold. We can’t tell who’s winning anymore, if anyone is. Our people are all out on the streets, doing what they can, but we need you to bring things together. Just your presence will help to inspire the fighters. You’ve become heroes, legends, not least through Toby Shreck’s coverage, and people will follow you where they won’t follow us.”