Deathstalker Coda (31 page)
Authors: Simon R. Green
“Is it true that Owen’s back?” said Councillor Goldman. “Have you really seen him?”
“Yes,” said Lewis. “He’s back. And he’s everything the legends said he was, and more. He’s gone to face the Terror. We really don’t know any more than that. No doubt he’ll reappear to us, when his work is done.”
That was enough to silence all of them, even Kramer. Finally he gestured for everyone to follow him, and stalked off into the mists. He set a brisk pace, and everyone else had to hurry to keep up with him. Lewis and his companions stuck close. They really didn’t want to get lost in the fog. Brett sniffed loudly.
“Why don’t you buy some weather satellites, and clear up all this damned fog?” he said loudly.
“Because we like our world this way,” Kramer growled, without looking back. “The long winter makes us strong. The cold puts iron in our bones. We always knew the Golden Age wouldn’t last. We’ve always been ready—to clear up the mess when it all fell apart.”
Lewis and the others gawped around like tourists as Kramer led them deep into the sprawling city of Mistport. Like most people, they knew Mistport only from the old stories, from the days of the Great Rebellion. So much had happened here, so many significant people had come and gone, and yet hardly anyone knew any more than that. Mistworld kept itself to itself, and didn’t encourage visitors. In fact, for a while the city Council had actually posted generous bounties for the heads of those determined visitors who insisted on trying to sneak in. Mistworld could have made itself rich by trading on its legend and commercializing its fame, but had chosen not to.
If Owen had been there, he would have found much in Mistport to recognize. The place hadn’t changed that much in two hundred years. It was still mostly made up of squat, old-fashioned buildings composed primarily of stone and timber. There were unmistakable modern touches, in the bright streetlamps that pushed back the haze of the mists, and the low antigrav vehicles that moved through the narrow cobbled streets. But coal-fired barges still chugged slowly along the river Autumn that meandered through the heart of the city, and the Watchmen still patrolled in pairs because it was safer that way. There was law on Mistworld, but like Brett’s education, it was a sometime thing. The people bustling through the streets in their heavy furs and cloaks paid no attention to Kramer or the people with him.
“Hey, I’ve just noticed something,” said Brett.
“Then why did you tread in it?” said Rose.
Everyone then had to stop and wait while Brett scraped his boot clean with great thoroughness. Kramer glowered impatiently, but for once Brett out-glared him. When he was sure he’d finished, Brett gestured around him.
“I meant, where are your statues? Half the heroes of old passed through this city on a regular basis during the Great Rebellion, and I haven’t seen a single statue to any of them. Not even Owen, who by all accounts saved this city single-handed half a dozen times.”
“We don’t believe in them,” Kramer said shortly.
“Statues, or heroes?” said Lewis.
“We don’t need statues to remind us of what Owen and Hazel d’Ark did here,” said Councillor Goldman. “We remember. We always will. We are their legacy, not some idealized piece of stone. We do have a few hospitals dedicated to St. Beatrice. But that’s different.”
No one had an answer to that, so the rest of the journey passed pretty much in silence. They ended up at a simple tavern, deep in the heart of the city. It seemed a pleasant enough place, and deliciously warm and cozy after the bitter cold of the streets. Lewis and his companions headed straight for the open roaring fire in the huge stone fireplace, while Kramer talked with the inn’s owner, a short fat butterball of a man dressed in cheerfully clashing colors. Lewis and Jesamine took it in turns rubbing the feeling back into their numbed hands, pulling anguished faces at the stabbing pins and needles. Brett had turned his back on the fire, and stuck out his backside to enjoy the full benefit of the heat. Rose alone seemed entirely unaffected by the cold or the new heat. The inn’s other customers ignored them, not even bothering to lower their voices.
The inn’s owner led his new customers into a side room, and bustled happily about making sure everyone was settled and had a mug of something hot and soothing and deceptively alcoholic in their hand. Hot food was promised shortly, and plenty of it. He gave Rose plenty of room, but then, everybody did. Lewis and his companions sat with Kramer and Goldman at the main table, while the other Mistworlders sat together a little way off. The host asked if they had everything they wanted, and Brett raised a hand.
“What was that animal I saw on the hanging sign over the door as we came in?”
“That, sir, is a Hob hound. The inn is named after the creature, and a terrible thing it was, sir. This establishment has been known as the Hob Hound for over a hundred years, famous for good wines and spirits. Used to be called the Blackthorn, in my grandfather’s day, but he renamed it to celebrate the death of the very last Hob hound. Nasty creatures they were, sir; killed for sport as much as appetite, or so I’m told. Anyway, they were hunted down to extinction, and good riddance to them all. It’s said some damned fool wanted to preserve a breeding pair, for a zoo. My grandfather shot him, just to be on the safe side.”
He caught Kramer glaring at him impatiently, and remembered he was urgently needed elsewhere. He bustled off, and the meeting proper began. The Council of Mistport, and by extension all of Mistworld, turned out to consist of Kramer and Goldman, and another man and woman who slipped quietly into the empty seats left for them. Out of her shapeless furs, Goldman turned out to be a shapely mature woman with a soft mouth and knowing eyes. Kramer just looked even more of a thug. Then there was an old woman, Gina Caswell, who was the oldest-looking woman Lewis and his companions had ever seen. People didn’t look old in the Empire these days, right up until they died. But this was Mistworld, whose inhabitants didn’t believe in such fripperies. Lewis had to keep himself from staring at her sunken wrinkled face. Brett of course didn’t even try, until Jesamine kicked his ankle under the table. The final Councillor, and leader, was Gil Akotai. Lewis would have known he was the leader without having to be told. Akotai was a squat heap of a man, flat-faced and sleepy-eyed, almost as wide as he was tall, but for all his air of calm relaxation, Lewis wasn’t fooled for a moment. He knew a dangerous man when he saw one.
“There’s not much of you, for a Deathstalker,” said Caswell, in her sharp old-woman’s voice. “I’ve flushed more impressive objects in my time. Did you gain any powers from the Madness Maze?”
“I’m still finding out,” said Lewis, determined to be polite despite all provocation. “But I am definitely more than I used to be.”
“That wouldn’t be difficult,” said Caswell.
“I never wanted any of you here in the first place,” said Kramer. “What are you, really? A disgraced warrior trading on his legendary name. A singer past her best, another bloody Random’s Bastard as if we didn’t already have more than enough, and the Wild Rose of the Arena, who I still say we should have shot on sight, from a distance. Oh, yes, we know all about her. We get all the entertainment channels out here. A complete bloody psychopath, and vicious with it. No offense.”
“Trust me,” said Brett. “If she was offended, you’d know all about it by now. There’d be heads rolling across the floor, and entrails hanging from the lamps.”
“You see!” Kramer said to Akotai.
“Be quiet, Manfred,” Akotai said mildly, and Kramer shut up immediately. Everyone looked at Akotai, but it seemed that was all he had to say, for the moment.
“Excuse me,” said Jesamine, in that dangerously calm and even tone that Lewis had learned meant imminent trouble. “What exactly did you mean, a singer past her best? I am a diva.”
“This is supposed to be a meeting for rebels and fighters, not second-rate showbiz stars,” said Kramer, and Lewis winced.
“I was never second rate!” snapped Jesamine. “And I’m more of a fighter than you’ll ever be.”
“Be silent, woman! Or I’ll have you removed!”
Oh, dear
, thought Lewis.
, thought Lewis.
Kramer and Jesamine were both on their feet, glaring at each other. Lewis looked to Akotai, to see if he was going to do anything, and when it became clear that he wasn’t, Lewis sighed heavily, and brought his hand down hard on the table. The heavy ironwood tabletop cracked, from one end to the other, and everyone looked sharply at Lewis. Ironwood was so tough you could usually only carve and shape it with a laser. Kramer sat down, and after a moment, so did Jesamine. The four Councillors actually seemed to relax a little. Old woman Caswell actually smiled at Lewis.
“Now, that’s a Deathstalker,” she said, showing off the few front teeth she had left.
“Yes,” said Akotai. “You’ll understand, Lewis, we needed to be sure. Now, let us get down to business.” He leaned forward, holding everyone’s attention effortlessly. “Much has happened, in a short time. This world has rejected Finn Durandal and his Empire. There is no place here for the madness of Pure Humanity and Church Militant. The final straw was of course the murder of our Paragon, Emma Steel. Every man and woman of Mistworld has sworn to avenge her foul and unjust death. The Durandal has branded her a traitor, but no one here believes that. We all knew Emma Steel. She was the best of us all.”
“She was no traitor,” Lewis said. “Finn didn’t even bother with a show trial, and he does so love his trials. She must have been onto him, onto something important, so he had her killed. He must have known he could never bribe or intimidate her into silence.”
“We would never have believed it, even if there had been a trial,” said Kramer. “We all knew Emma.”
“I knew her too,” said Lewis. “She was my partner, for a time. A good Paragon, strong and true and honorable. We worked well together. I miss her.”
“It is good to know, that she was what she always wanted to be,” said Akotai, and all the Councillors nodded. Akotai looked at Lewis. “I lead the Council, and the Council leads Mistworld. Why should we accept your leadership in the rebellion, Lewis Deathstalker? How do you justify such arrogance? With your legendary name?”
Jesamine started to say something hot and harsh, but Lewis stopped her with a gesture. He met Akotai’s gaze calmly.
“I lead because I have the most experience in fighting Finn and his creatures. And the most success.”
“And then there is the matter of John Silence,” said Akotai, as though Lewis hadn’t spoken. “We know you have him on one of your ships. We have never forgotten or forgiven the things he did here, and never will. The men and women lying dead in the streets, the children burned alive in blazing buildings, the mountains of skulls the marines made to mark their victories. Have I shocked you, Deathstalker? Such atrocities were whitewashed from his legend, but we remember. He served the Iron Bitch, and served her well for many years.”
“That was over two hundred years ago,” said Lewis.
“No,” said Caswell. “That was yesterday.”
“A man can change a lot, in two hundred years,” Lewis said carefully. “And we are talking about the man who led the fleet to face the forces of Shub, and the Recreated.”
“Will that bring one dead Mistworlder back to life?” said Akotai.
“We’ve all got pasts,” said Brett, unexpectedly. “Some of us find the strength to move beyond them. And you leave Lewis alone. He’s proven himself worthy of the Deathstalker name.”
“How?” said Kramer. “By stealing that slut from his best friend, the King?”
Lewis was on his feet in a moment. He grabbed Kramer by the front of his shirt, hauled him up and out of his chair, and dragged him across the table until they were face-to-face. Kramer struggled fiercely, but couldn’t break free. Lewis smiled, and Kramer suddenly froze, held by the naked threat in Lewis’s cold eyes.
“You don’t talk that way about Jesamine,” said Lewis. “Not now, not ever. So sit down and be quiet, or I’ll do to you what I just did to the table.”
He dropped Kramer back into his chair, and sat down again himself. Jesamine patted him gently on the arm.
“Told you,” said Caswell. “He’s a Deathstalker.”
“But is that enough to make him our leader?” said Gil Akotai, and again everyone’s eyes went to him. “You must understand, Lewis; I have earned my position here. A dozen years as Council leader, and a proven warrior. I was the one who trained Emma Steel, when she decided she wanted to be our first Paragon. If you are to lead here, you must prove your worth and value to us.”
Jesamine bristled again, and Brett looked actually outraged, but Lewis just nodded calmly. “I was a Paragon on Logres, and Imperial Champion to King Douglas. I have fought off the usurper Finn’s forces, and faced the monsters on Shandrakor. I mention these things only in passing.”
“What you may or may not have done in another place has no merit here,” said Akotai, just as calmly. “This is Mistworld, and you must prove yourself to us.”
“We have killed soldiers and monsters,” Rose said suddenly, in her slow cold voice. “We have killed espers and ELFs and Paragons. Why should we lower ourselves to fight with such as you?”
“Damn right!” said Jesamine. “Men! You’ll be waving your dicks at each other next.”
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