Deathstalker d-1 Page 10

  "One man's traitor is another man's hero, Your Majesty," he said easily. "Perhaps you had some specific name in mind?"

  "Perhaps we did," said the Empress. "You have spoken out against us too many times, Summerlsle, thwarted our will too often."

  "I can remember when it was no crime for a man to speak his mind. Of course, that was a long time ago, in your father's day. And many things have changed since then."

  Lionstone smiled. "You have displeased us, Summerlsle, because your many words of criticism were aimed not only at ourself, but also at our Empire. Can we rely on you to refrain from such treasonous talk in the future?"

  "Don't be silly, Lionstone. I'm too old a dog to learn new tricks, and I wouldn't if I could. I remember you as a child. You were so full of fun when you were younger. If I'd known what you'd grow into… I probably would have let you live anyway. I always was too soft where children were concerned. I'm all that remains of your father's inner circle. The others are all dead. Some at your hand, some not. Just as well. They'd hate to see what you're doing to the Empire they swore to maintain. Under you, honor is a joke and double-dealing is the norm. Justice only for the rich, and death for those who dare to disagree. Thirteen generations of your line built this Empire, Lionstone, only to see it crumble in your iron fist. You are the cancer at the heart of the Empire, the blight on the rose."

  There was complete and utter silence in the court. Lionstone had been leaning angrily forward on her throne, but she made herself relax and lean back before she spoke.

  "You always did talk too much, old man. You stand condemned by your own words. Let no one say we did not give you a fair chance…"

  "Oh, get on with it," said Summerlsle. "I'm to be an example to silence others. I knew that before I came here.

  Send forward your pet executioner, and we'll get this show on the road."

  He glared defiantly at Dram, but the Widowmaker just stared calmly back, his hands nowhere near his weapons. Lionstone smiled sweetly.

  "You're not worthy of the Warrior Prime, Summerlsle. I have a more… appropriate executioner for you."

  She nodded to one of her maids, who leapt to her feet, raised her clawed hands above her head and clapped twice. A third man appeared out of nowhere as the concealing hologram blinked out and moved forward through the muddy waters to stand smiling at the Summerlsle. A slender figure in black-and-silver armor, he was young and more than fashionably thin, with pale blond flyaway hair, icy blue eyes and a killer's smile. He carried a sword on both hips, and he walked like a predator. People drew back at the sight of him, and a low whisper passed softly through the packed crowd:

  "Kid Death…Kid Death …"

  He smiled and nodded to the courtiers, and those nearest him recoiled as though he'd tossed a snake into their midst. They knew who and what he was. Everyone in the court had heard of Kid Death, the smiling killer. He strode slowly forward, and the gentle lapping sounds of the water against his boots were eerily loud in the quiet. He finally came to a halt an arm's length from the Summerlsle, and the two of them stood face to face, the old man and the young. The invincible warrior and the undefeated duelist.

  Kid Death drew the sword on his right hip, reversed it, and offered it casually to Summerlsle. The old Lord bowed formally, took it, and then took up a fighter's stance. The younger man drew the sword on his other hip and fell into his own stance. Summerlsle nodded approvingly.

  "Glad to see all my training hasn't gone to waste, Kit. You were the best pupil I ever had."

  "Thank you, Grandfather." The young man's voice was light and breathy.

  "Another child who turned out wrong. What the hell was wrong with your generation? Maybe there was something in the water…"

  "I'm what you made me, Grandfather: the most skilled swordsman in the Empire. You sharpened the blade; did it never occur to you that someday it might be used against you?"

  Summerlsle hefted his sword, his face fixed on his grandson's eyes. "You killed your father and your mother and both your brothers, and the law couldn't touch you, because you said they were duels, and there was no one to contradict you. I should have killed you myself, but I couldn't. You and I are all that's left of the Summerlsle line, Kit. Don't let it end here, in senseless bloodshed, just to please the Iron Bitch."

  "I'm doing this to please myself, Grandfather. Doesn't the student always want to prove that he's become better than the teacher? As to serving the Empress, I am a killer, so I must go where the killing is. My parents disapproved of the life I led and tried to stop me; so I stopped them. And my brothers too, later, when they came looking for vengeance. They won't be missed, any of them. They dared little and achieved less. But I go on, the best of the best, death on two legs, Her Majesty's executioner in all but name. One day I'll have that, too, and then there'll be a new Warrior Prime."

  "You won't last that long, Kit. She'll see to that. Tell me, boy, did you ever feel anything for your Family? I loved them so much."

  "No, Grandfather, not a thing. Not even when I killed them. Enough talk, old man. Let's dance."

  He stepped forward, the sword moving easily this way and that, searching for an opening. Summerlsle went to meet him, moving only as much as he had to, the tip of his sword pointing always at his grandson's heart, and his eyes were cold and steady. For a moment they circled, each wary of the other, and then they came together in a flash of steel and the crashing of blades. The encounter was over in a moment, then they were circling again. There was a long red slash along Kid Death's left cheek, and blood trickled down his face. Summerlsle had drawn first blood. His grandson smiled widely, then threw himself forward. His sword was everywhere, and the sheer ferocity of his attack forced Summerlsle back, step by step. And then he stood his ground, and would not give up another step, no matter how hard Kid Death pressed him, as though he had said, This far will I go, and no further. Their swords slammed together and they stood face to face, straining with all their strength for the upper hand. Summerlsle's breath was coming fast, and his face was flushed. His grandson wasn't even breathing hard. Kid Death held Summerlsle's eyes with his and surreptitiously drew a dagger from a concealed sheath in his sleeve. Summerlsle smiled suddenly and nodded, and Kid Death thrust his dagger between the old man's ribs.

  Summerlsle grunted once, and then coughed. Bright bubbling blood spilled from his mouth, and the strength went out of him. His sword fell, and Kid Death ran him through with a short, brutal motion. Summerlsle sank to his knees, his blood spattering the surface of the water. Kid Death pulled free his sword, sheathed it, and then bent over his grandfather, their faces close together.

  "You knew that trick," the young man said quietly. "You taught it to me. You knew it was coming, and you did nothing to stop me. Why?"

  "Because I have no wish to live on… in the kind of Empire Lionstone is building." The old man paused to spit out a thick gobbet of blood. "And because you… are the last of the Summerlsle line. If I'd killed you… the line would have ended with me. Can't have that. You'll be the Summerlsle now, boy. Maybe you'll make a better job of it than I did."

  His head dropped slowly forward, as though he was bowing to his grandson, and then he fell forward into the muddy waters and lay still in a widening pool of his own blood. And Kit, Lord Summerlsle, straightened up, shrugged briefly and turned away.

  "I have my own name, old man, the name I earned. And I like it better than anything you ever gave me."

  He drew his bloody sword and saluted Lionstone with it, and she bowed regally in return.

  "Don't go too far, Lord Summerlsle. I may have need of your services again. There is still another traitor who must be dealt with."

  Kid Death took a relaxed stance beside the throne, pushing the Empress' esper out of the way, and set about cleaning the blood from his blade with a piece of rag. In the forefront of the crowd, the Campbell watched guards drag Summerlsle's body away and said nothing at all. Lionstone nodded to her maid again, and once more she rose up and clapp
ed her hands twice. Two guards appeared from the mists behind the throne, pushing a large transparent sphere ahead of them. It hovered at waist height, kept clear of the foul waters by its antigrav field. Within the sphere, a man sat slumped, his head hanging down from exhaustion. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with a heavyset face and figure. His long golden robes might have been imposing once, but they were tattered and soiled now, mostly with his own blood and vomit. He wore no chains, but the sphere held him as securely as any cage. A quiet murmur, quickly stilled, ran through the court as those at the front recognized the new prisoner and sent his name back through the crowd. The guards brought the sphere to a halt before the throne so that Lionstone could look upon her new victim. Her voice rang sweet and mocking on the quiet.

  "My Lords, Ladies and gentle friends, allow us to present to you Judge Nicholas Wesley. Once, he presided over the highest court in our Empire, his name a synonym for law and justice. We thought that, of all our subjects, we could trust him implicitly. We were wrong. He thought his word was law, but there's only one law in the Empire, and that is ours. And having forgotten his duty, he threw away his honor by associating with quite the wrong sort of people. Tell us, Judge; how long have you been a supporter of the clone underground?"

  The packed court was deathly silent as it waited for the Judge's answer. If ever a man in the Empire had been trusted and admired, even revered, it was Judge Wesley. His judgments were legends of reason and honesty, his few books required reading. And now he sat slumped in a stasis sphere, bloodied and humbled, and perhaps there was no justice in the Empire anymore. He looked up slowly, as though even as simple a matter as that took much out of him. Somewhere along the line, he'd suffered a severe beating. One swollen eye was entirely closed, and dried blood crusted his split lips. But even though he had fallen so very far, there was still a dignity about him, and when he finally spoke, his voice was calm and measured.

  "I served you for thirty-eight years, Lionstone. I gave justice to all who came before me. Or that is what I told myself. It is my shame that it took me so long to see the evil in you and your laws. My life had become a mockery of everything I thought I believed in. But finally I saw the truth, and I will not look away now, even if the light is painfully bright. A simple truth undid me: that clones are people, too."

  "Not unless we say they are," said the Empress. "You haven't answered our question, Judge. How long have we nursed a traitor to our bosom?"

  The Judge met her gaze unblinkingly and said nothing. The Empress smiled.

  "Do you understand the nature of the sphere that imprisons you, traitor? It's a stasis field. Within that sphere, time does as we command. We can speed it up or slow it down. A year can pass in a second, or a second can last a year. You could lose a decade in the blink of an eye, live out your whole life in the time it takes you to answer our questions. Unless you choose to be reasonable. Give us the names of the scum you dealt with, and where they may be found, and you shall go free. We give our word as Empress."

  The Judge smiled suddenly, and fresh blood ran down his chin as his lips split open again. "Your word is worthless, Lionstone. Truth and honor are not in you. I have nothing to say."

  The Empress sat back in her throne and gestured sharply to one of the guards by the sphere. He made a small adjustment to the control on his wrist, and the Judge grunted loudly as though someone had hit him. His hair grew longer and thick strands of white appeared in it. Heavy lines dug deeply into his face. His frame shrank subtly, and his hands withered into claws. He moaned with pain as arthritis filled his joints. Lionstone raised a hand, and the aging stopped. Within the sphere, the equivalent of forty years had passed in a few moments.

  "Talk to us, Nicholas. This is the last chance we can offer you. Are you really willing to die to protect creatures who aren't even human?"

  Judge Nicholas Wesley gave her a smile that had as much of the skull as humor in it. "The lowest clone is more human than you, Lionstone."

  The Empress gestured angrily, and time roared through the sphere like sands rushing through an hourglass. The Judge grew withered and frail. His hair fell out and his skin mottled. A skull replaced his face, as bones pushed out against the tightening skin, and still he had nothing to say. Time passed. The Judge died and his body decayed, and then there was nothing left in the sphere but his torn robes and a few bones crumbling into dust. The guard collapsed the stasis field and the sphere disappeared. The Judge's robes dropped into the muddy waters and sank from sight.

  * * *

  Out in the antechamber. Captain Silence and Investigator Frost sat alone, in chains, inside a force screen. The field shimmered on the edges of their vision whichever way they looked, so that the antechamber had an unreal, ghostly look to them. Silence wasn't fooled. The danger they were in was all too real. He'd lost his ship and allowed the Deathstalker outlaw to escape. He should have died honorably at his post as his ship went down. His Clan would have mourned his name, and it would all have been over. But the Investigator had insisted on saving him for her own inscrutable reasons. And so here he was, secured at the ankles, wrists and throat with enough chains to hold a dozen men, waiting to see which interesting and especially painful death the Empress had in mind for him.

  Officially he was entitled to a Court Martial before a board of his peers and fellow officers, but the Empress outranked them all when she chose to, so she had first claim on him. Besides, the best he could have hoped from a court martial would have been a quick death. Silence rattled his chains briefly and sniffed. Shoddy workmanship, but still more than enough to hold him even without the force screen. He wasn't going anywhere. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere the Empress couldn't find him. Besides, he wouldn't have wanted to live as an outlaw anyway—always on the run, looking back over your shoulder to see if they were gaining on you. No peace, no chance for happiness… or honor.

  Silence sighed heavily, not for the first time, and looked at the Investigator sitting beside him. Their captors had taken special pains with her bonds, loading her down with thick steel chains until a normal person would have collapsed under the weight of them. Frost ignored them, sitting proud and erect on the wooden bench as though it was her own idea to be there. The force screen was mainly for her. She was an Investigator, after all, and no one was taking any chances.

  Two armed guards stood before the closed double doors, waiting for the call to bring the prisoners in. They looked large and tough and extremely competent. Silence would have doubted his chances against them even without the chains and with a sword in one hand and a grenade in the other. He sighed again and rattled his chains mournfully.

  "I wish you'd stop doing that," said Frost.

  "Sorry. Not much else to do."

  "They'll let us out of the screen soon."

  " That won't make any difference, Investigator. We're not going anywhere."

  "You mustn't give up, Captain. There are always options."

  Silence looked at her. "Is that why you rescued me from the bridge of the Darkwind?"

  "Of course, Captain."

  "Thanks a whole bunch. But I forgive you. Frost. It must have seemed like a good idea at the time."

  Frost stirred, and her chains rattled briefly. The armed guards looked at her thoughtfully. "I was just doing my duty, Captain."

  "Does that mean you wouldn't try to escape now, if you could?

  "Of course I would, Captain. I'm loyal, but I'm not stupid. We must keep our eyes open and our wits about us. There are always options."

  And then the double doors swung open a short way, and the two armed guards moved toward the prisoners. One drew his disrupter and pointed it meaningfully at Frost. Silence felt vaguely insulted. The second guard made an adjustment to the controls on his wrist, and the force screen disappeared. Silence looked at Frost.

  "If you have any suggestions or ideas, now would be a really good time to share them."

  "We could always use our chains to club anyone to death who got too close
to us."

  "Good idea. Get them to kill us quickly. Keep thinking, Investigator."

  The guards gestured for Silence and Frost to pass through the double doors and into the waiting court. They kept well back, both their guns trained on the Investigator. Silence gathered up his chains and rose awkwardly to his feet. It took him a moment to get his balance as the heavy weight shifted, and then he stumbled toward the doors. If he hadn't had experience on heavy gravity planets, he doubted he'd have been able to move at all. The guards would have loved that. They were just looking for some excuse to beat the crap out of him again. Silence gritted his teeth and kept moving. Frost walked beside him, back straight and head erect, ignoring her chains as though they were so many party favors. She was courteous enough to keep pace with Silence, and somehow that made it worse.

  They passed through the waiting doors and were immediately ankle deep in filthy water. Silence was past caring. It was just one more indignity. He splashed on, fighting to keep his head up. The court was packed. They must be expecting a really unpleasant execution. A narrow aisle formed before him, people drawing back as though not wanting to be associated with him even by proximity. Silence didn't care. At least they weren't shouting or spitting or throwing things. Though, come to think of it, he might have preferred a little shouting. The continuing silence was becoming unnerving. He struggled on, Frost at his side, the guards a respectful distance behind them. Silence looked about him as best he could, and the courtiers looked back with something in their faces that might have been expectancy. And it occurred to Silence that the Empress wouldn't have summoned this many important people to court just to watch him and Frost die. They had to be here for some other, more important, reason. Which suggested that just maybe there were still options open to him, after all.

  Finally Silence and Frost came to a halt before the throne of Lionstone XIV. Silence felt ready to drop, but forced himself to stand straight despite the chains. He had a strong feeling this would be a really bad time to show weakness. Frost stood beside him, looking calm and composed, as always. Something moved in the deeper waters not too far away, and Silence wondered fleetingly if there was something alive just below the surface. Something alive and hungry. The Empress did so like her little jokes. It didn't really matter. If it got too close, Frost would take care of it.