Deathstalker War (48 page)

“At Court they call him Kid Death,” said Flynn quietly. “The smiling killer.”

“Can’t say as I’m surprised,” said Adrian. He scowled, searching for the right words. “It’s not like he’s done anything, or said anything, that a man could take offense to, but . . . he’s a dangerous man, or I never saw one. Don’t know what the Deathstalker sees in him, but they seem close enough. Always together.”

“Bit too close, if you ask me,” said Diana.

“Now, Mother . . .”

“Do you think the Deathstalker will object to our presence here?” said Toby.

Adrian raised an eyebrow. “I thought he was supposed to be sympathetic to the underground?”

“He was. But he’s . . . distanced himself, of late. I suppose being given absolute control over an entire planet will do that to you.”

“I doubt he’ll interrupt his play just because you’re here,” said Diana. “But I think we’d better keep the Steward distracted till you’re gone. He’s a hard man. An Empire man, through and through. Bows to everything with a title, and lords it over us like he was a blue blood himself. Thinks he’s better than us. Damned fool. I can remember him growing up on a farm not twenty miles from here. No, you two just get on with your work. We’ll see you’re not interfered with.”

“Look forward to seeing it, when it’s finished,” said Adrian. “The wife and I are big fans of yours. Very impressed we were, with your Technos III coverage.”

“You saw that?” said Flynn, quietly discouraging another cat from climbing up on his head.

“We’ve got a holoscreen,” said Adrian. “You’re not out in the sticks here, you know.”

A loud chiming came from the next room. Adrian and Diana looked round startled. “Speak of the Devil. That’s the underground’s signal,” said Adrian. “Means there’s a message coming in. Can’t say I was expecting anything.”

“I expect they just want to speak with these two,” said Diana. “Make sure they got here in one piece.”

“No doubt, Mother. I’ll just check.”

He got up and went into the next room, calmly puffing on his pipe. When he returned a few moments later, the pipe was in his hand, and the peacefulness was gone from his face.

“You’d better come through,” he said to Toby and Flynn. “They want to talk to you. Mother, call the boys in. We’d best prepare. Word is bad things are coming.”

Diana got up without a word and headed for the outside door. Toby and Flynn dumped their various cats and dogs and followed Adrian into the next room, where a large holoscreen covered half a wall. An unfamiliar face looked out of the screen at them, stern to hide his worry.

“Shreck, Flynn, you have to leave, now. It’s not safe for you anymore.”

“Why?” said Toby. “What’s happened? Have the Dakeis been compromised? Does the Empire know we’re here?”

“None of that matters anymore,” said the face. “The shit is about to hit the fan for all of Virimonde, if it hasn’t already begun. Leave, while you still can. Empire troops will be hitting ground anytime now, all over the planet. The Stevie Blues are already dirtside, to represent us to the local rebels. They should be heading in your direction; see if you can hook up with them. If not, try to get to the Standing. Maybe the Deathstalker can protect you till we can arrange safe passage offworld for you.”

“But why?” said Toby. “What’s happening?”

The face looked tired and drawn, as though all his strength was leaking out of him. “The Empress has outlawed David Deathstalker, for allowing his peasants to experiment with democracy. The entire planet is to be placed under martial law, by any and all means necessary. The populace is considered to be in rebellion. Every man, woman, and child on Virimonde is to be placed under constraint, and then tried, exiled, or executed. Not necessarily in that order. Three Imperial starcruisers are already in orbit over Virimonde. More are on their way. Troops are already landing. And the Empress has authorized extensive use of war machines. It’s going to get hard and vicious and bloody, real soon now. Get out of there. Now.”

The screen went blank. In the kitchen the dogs were barking loudly, sensing the excitement and alarm. Toby and Flynn looked at each other. “Well,” said Flynn, trying hard to sound casual. “So much for our trying to avoid a war zone. Do we head for the Standing?”

“I guess so. The Stevie Blues could be anywhere, and the Standing isn’t that far from here. Maybe we can get some good footage of the fighting along the way. Just so this mission isn’t a complete failure. You know, just once, I’d like things to go the way I planned them.”

Flynn shrugged. “That’s life. Our life, anyway. We’d better say good-bye to our hosts and get moving. We’ve no way of knowing how near the troops are.”

They went back into the kitchen. The dogs were running around excitedly. The cats were perched on high shelves, watching everything with wise, experienced eyes. Adrian Daker had pushed the heavy table aside and opened up a concealed trapdoor in the floor. There were wooden steps, leading down into a secret cellar. Adrian was emerging from the dark hole with an armful of weapons. He nodded calmly to Toby and Flynn, and dropped the weapons on the table, next to those he’d already brought up. There were lots of them, mostly projectile weapons and boxes of ammunition, with a few hand energy weapons. Set on a farmhouse table they looked pretty impressive, but Toby knew they were nothing compared to an invading army backed up by war machines.

“Better get out of here boys,” said Adrian. “It’ll be getting noisy around here soon. It seems the rebellion’s started a little early.”

“Will you be safe here?” said Toby.

“Safe as anywhere,” said Adrian, stripping guns of their protective coverings with quick, professional movements. “They’ll need an army to storm this place. And with Mother and our boys beside me, the Empire will pay dearly in blood and suffering for the taking of our land. This has been Daker land for countless generations, and they’ll not take it from us while there’s a bullet left to fire, or a Daker left to fire it. Go, now, while it’s still quiet. Head due north from here, and that’ll take you to the Standing. You’ll find a flyer in the stables behind the house. Energy crystals are a bit low, but they should get you most of the way there. Stay low, and try and keep out of sight. The locals won’t know who you are. You might end up getting shot at by both sides. Good luck, boys.”

The outer door burst open and Diana came rushing in, her eyes wide. She gestured urgently with the comm unit in her hand. “I can’t raise the boys! The channel’s open, but none of them are answering!”

From far away in the distance came the sound of an explosion, followed almost immediately by another. They all hurried outside, Adrian grabbing a gun from the table. Outside in the farmyard, twilight was falling. The sound of energy guns discharging was clear and plain in the quiet. Out on the heathered moor, the animals were running confusedly this way and that. Far away, someone was screaming. Diana Daker moved to stand close beside her husband, who was hugging his gun to his chest like a talisman.

“My boys,” said Adrian Daker. “My poor boys . . .”

David Deathstalker and Kit SummerIsle, those two most dangerous men, lay sleeping on the floor of the Heart’s Ease tavern. Some kind souls had draped their cloaks over them like blankets, but they hadn’t stirred enough to notice. The Deathstalker was murmuring quietly and grinding his teeth in his sleep, perhaps disturbed by some dream. The SummerIsle slept peacefully, his face as unconcerned as an innocent child’s. Which would no doubt have amused him greatly, had he known. Sitting not far away at a long wooden table, nursing almost empty mugs of ale, two good-looking young women studied the sleeping men with good-natured tolerance. They were Alice Daker and Jenny Marsh, girlfriends of the slumbering swains.

Alice was a tall and slender redhead with a magnificent bosom. Or, as David liked to say, a balcony you could do Shakespeare from. She had a wide smile, dancing eyes, and enough patience to put up with the Deathstalker’s sense of humor, which could be somewhat basic on occasion. She was wearing the very best silks, enough jewelry to open her own shop, and the very latest in fashion and makeup, all courtesy of the Deathstalker. She was a good listener, an indefatigable dancer, and knew all the words to the best drinking songs, especially the dirty ones.

Her friend Jenny was tall, ghostly pale, and raven-haired, with sharp features and a sharper tongue. She had a slender, almost boyish figure, and enough nervous energy to run a small city. She also wore the very best in fashion and its expensive accessories, courtesy of the SummerIsle. She smiled often, laughed rarely, and was forever alert and watchful for the main chance. Which for the moment seemed to be Kit SummerIsle.

It was early in the morning, almost three a.m. The end of another long evening of drinking, carousing, and generally having as much fun as a body can stand. Since the Deathstalker was paying, they hadn’t lacked for friends to join them in their festivities, but one by one drink or exhuastion had claimed the revelers, and they staggered out of the tavern doors in the general direction of home. The tavern owner finally gave up about two a.m., locked the place up, and went to his bed, leaving the remaining revelers to take care of themselves. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and also, it wasn’t as if he had to worry about them cleaning out the till. Eventually even David’s and Kit’s hardened constitutions had given up the ghost and demanded sleep. So rather than make the long journey home, puking over the side of the flyer and arguing over directions, they just crashed out on the floor and went to sleep. Alice and Jenny, having paced their drinking through long experience, were now in that happy and contemplative stage of drunkenness where lying down and going to sleep involved too much effort. And so they sat and talked quietly together over the last of the booze, perhaps a little more openly than they otherwise might have.

“God, I’m hungry,” said Alice. “Do you suppose there’s any food left behind the bar?”

“If there is, I wouldn’t touch it,” said Jenny. “I don’t know what he puts in his meat pies, but you never see any rats around here. His bread rolls bounce, his soup has things floating in it, and his bar snacks are the kind of things that start wars. I think he breeds them in dark corners, when no one’s looking.”

“His ale’s good. And his wine. And his brandy.”

“Should be, for the prices he charges.”

“What do you care?” said Alice, grinning. “None of this is coming out of our pockets.”

“True,” said Jenny. “Very true. I suppose the boys do have their uses.”

They looked over at the sleeping pair. Alice fondly, Jenny entirely unmoved. Kit farted in his sleep. Neither of the girls flinched.

“He’s all right, is David,” said Alice finally. “He’s good-looking, considerate when he thinks of it, and rich as hell. And he’s always there for me. He isn’t always going on about the local elections, or the rebellion, as though they meant anything in a backwater dump like this. He isn’t all work and duty and politics. He’s good times, and laughs, and a bit of fun now and again. Why can’t the local boys be like that?”

“Peasants,” said Jenny dismissively. “They don’t appreciate us. Never have. None of them can see past the next lambing, or the next harvest. They don’t care about style, or sophistication, or any of the things that really matter. And none of them know how to treat a girl like a lady. God, I hate this place! I want out of here, out of this dump, this town, and off this whole stinking planet. Kit’s taking me to Golgotha. He doesn’t know it yet, but he is. He’s my ticket out of here.”

“I don’t know how you can stand to be near him,” said Alice. “I mean, he’s David’s friend, so he must have some good in him somewhere, but I swear, sometimes I look at him and I just go ail gooseflesh. He’s trouble. Dangerous. They say he killed a lot of men in the Arena.”

“So did David,” said Jenny. She drank the last of her ale and slammed the mug down on the table. “God, I’d love to go to the Arena! See men fight and die for my pleasure. Right there, in the flesh, not on the screen. And Kit’s not so bad, really. He’s generous enough, and he doesn’t make any demands on me. A bit kinky in bed, but then, he’s an aristocrat. Not that I mind. I could teach him a thing or two.”

“Kinky?” said Alice, grinning. “What do you mean?”

Jenny grinned back at her. “Well, let’s just say Kit’s always glad to see the back of me.”

“Jenny!” Alice tried to look shocked, but couldn’t hold it. They giggled together, shooting glances at the boys to make sure they were still safely asleep.

“What about David?” said Jenny, eventually. “Any little . . . likes or dislikes?”

“Not really,” said Alice. “I don’t think he’s had much experience with girls, to be honest. He can go all shy at the strangest moments. But I think he cares for me. I mean, really cares for me. The dear.”

“Kit doesn’t,” said Jenny. “For which I am decidedly grateful. Emotions would only complicate our relationship. I’m out for what I can get from him, and he knows it. We have good times, good sex, and no demands either way. I don’t think Kit would know what to do with love, or even affection, anyway. Probably just confuse him.”

“He’s very close to David,” said Alice, frowning slightly. “As much as David likes me, even loves me sometimes, there’s a closeness between him and Kit that I can’t even touch. It’s like . . . neither of them ever really had a friend before. Still, I’m the one David really cares for. I’m the one he’s going to marry. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

Jenny looked at her sharply. “Marriage? Forget it, girl. Forget it. A peasant girl and a Lord, the head of his Family? That kind of thing only ever happens in bad soaps on the holoscreen. We’re not marriage material, Alice. We’re good-time girls, with all that implies. Out for a few laughs and whatever goodies we can pick up along the way. Aristos might party with girls like us, but they never marry us. They only breed with their own kind.”

“Well, all right, maybe not marry, exactly,” said Alice. “But I could be his mistress. Concubine. Whatever the polite word is these days. Aristos marry for politics or Clan-breeding reasons, not for love. It’s all to do with alliances and advantages and preserving bloodlines. Never love. Some other woman might have his name, but I’d still have his heart.”