He found his way to the Victory Gardens, behind the burned-out wreck that had once been the House of Parliament, and there he found statues of his two old friends Jack Random and Ruby Journey, standing tall and proud on their raised pedestals. He thought he recognized something of their true appearances on the carved faces, but neither of them had ever looked that heroic, or that noble, in life. Owen studied the two graves laid out before the statues for a long time. At least Jack and Ruby got graves. It seemed unlikely that either he or Hazel ever would. And at least Jack and Ruby finally found some peace together, lying side by side, respected and honored.
Sometimes Owen thought the whole universe ran on irony.
He moved on through the streets, and more and more it seemed to him that he was walking through a city under occupation. Now he’d reached the center where there were soldiers at every corner, all of them openly armed, most wearing the red cross of the Church Militant on their body armor. And now and then Owen would see the armor and purple cloak of the Paragon; once noble men and women, now possessed by ELF minds. Owen studied them thoughtfully, but they seemed unaware of his presence. And everywhere he looked there were bright glowing holos of the new Emperor, Finn Durandal. Some so big they were projected across the sides of whole buildings. Owen thought the man looked far too handsome for his own good, and a great deal too self-satisfied. Owen also thought it would probably feel really good to slap that smile right off the Emperor’s face.
He would have been quite happy to continue his wanderings unobserved, but of course he had to get involved. A somewhat aged Sister of Mercy, wearing a flapping black nun’s habit that Owen was pleased to see hadn’t changed at all in the last two centuries, was stumbling along with her arms wrapped around a large and blocky package. So of course Owen stepped forward and offered to carry it for her. She stopped, and studied him warily for a long moment, as though she’d grown unused to offers of kindness, and then either she saw something in his face she liked, or she was just too tired to object, so she handed him the heavy parcel and they walked along together. He told her his name was Owen, and she smiled for the first time.
“Ah, now that’s a fine name. I meet a lot of people named after the blessed Owen. It’s still the second most popular name in the Empire—after Beatrice, of course.”
“Of course,” said Owen. “But then, he was only a hero. She was a saint. At least, I always thought so.”
“I am Sister Margot. Is this your first trip to the big city, Owen?”
“No, but I’ve been away for a long time. Many things have changed, in my absence.”
“Yes,” said the nun, with a sigh. “And not for the better, I fear. This used to be such a happy place, once. A city of light, indeed. And now it’s crawling with shadows and evil thoughts, and sometimes I hardly recognize it at all.”
“Can’t someone do something?” said Owen. “A city reflects the mood of its people. Is no one speaking out against this?”
“No!” Sister Margot said sharply. “And you’re not to either. You can die for such words, since the Emperor came to power. This is not the city you knew, Owen. Take my advice, and tread carefully while you’re here.”
Owen grinned. “I’ve never been any good at taking advice, Sister. Not even from Beatrice.”
And that was when two Paragons stepped suddenly out from a shadowed doorway to block their path. Two big men in sloppy armor and dirty cloaks, their muscles already going to fat, but still dangerous. They took in the nun’s habit, and sniggered and elbowed each other. They paid no attention to Owen, half hidden behind his parcel. The nun clasped her hands together before her, and bowed over them to the two Paragons.
“Please, Sir Paragons, let us pass. These medicines are urgently needed at St. Clare’s Hospital. It’s not far now.”
“Nuns,” said one of the Paragons in a thick, ugly voice. “We like nuns, don’t we, Henry?”
“Oh, we just love nuns, Lawrence. We just love them to death. Sometimes literally.”
The Paragon called Henry nodded to Owen without looking at him. “Drop the box and run. And be grateful we’re going to be too busy to come after you.”
“Leave the nun alone,” said Owen, and something in his voice made the two Paragons turn sharply to look at him. Owen put the box down, and straightened up with his hands on his hips, where his sword and his gun used to be. Both long gone now, on Mistworld. The two Paragons looked at Owen’s face, and sheer horror filled their eyes as they recognized him. The minds behind the Paragons’ faces knew him of old. The faces went white with shock, and their hands fumbled at their guns.
“It’s Owen! It’s the Deathstalker! The Deathstalker has returned!”
Owen surged forward. He lashed out sharply, and his fist caught the Paragon Henry on the jaw. The force of the blow snapped the head right round, breaking the neck instantly. His body was still crumpling to the street, and the other Paragon was still drawing his disrupter, when Owen spun round and punched the Paragon Lawrence in the chest. The sternum cracked and broke under the impact, and Owen’s hand continued on to crush the man’s heart. The fight was over in a few seconds, both men were dead, and Owen wasn’t even breathing hard. He scooped up a gun and chose one of the Paragons’ swords for himself. The holster and scabbard fitted comfortably around his waist. For a man who’d always thought of himself as a scholar, he still always felt better with weapons at his hips. He still had it in him to feel sorry for the two Paragons he’d killed, for the real men underneath the ELFs’ influence. Except these couldn’t have just been ELFs. The possessing minds must have been uber-espers. Only they were old enough to remember his face. And now they knew he was back, and on Logres . . . Owen suddenly remembered the nun, and turned to smile at her.
“Sorry about the unpleasantness, Sister. But sometimes you just have to take out the trash.”
The nun dropped to her knees before him, wringing her hands together. “Oh, my lord Owen! My lord Deathstalker! You’ve come back to us! I never thought I’d live to see the day . . .”
“Now, now,” said Owen, gently but firmly helping her to her feet again. “None of that, Sister. I was only ever a man, despite what Robert and Constance may have said. And I never was one for bowing and scraping. Here, take your parcel. Do you have far to go now?”
“No, just round the corner . . . My lord! Are the dark times over? Have you come back to save us?”
“Help is on its way,” said Owen. “But I’m . . . just visiting. I wanted to see this marvelous new city, before I left to stop the Terror. But you’d better get going, Sister. The ungodly know I’m here now, and they’re bound to send reinforcements. So, off you go. Nice to see the Sisters of Mercy are still around. Hop like a bunny, as Beatrice used to say.”
He shooed the nun away, and then turned to face the running footsteps he heard approaching. It sounded like quite a crowd. Owen grinned. He could have just teleported away, but he didn’t want them going after the nun in his absence. And besides, after everything he’d been through recently, he really felt like killing a whole bunch of bad guys. The sword and the gun were happy familiar weights in his hands, and he actually laughed when he finally saw the army they’d sent against him. There had to be fifty men and more in the shouting mob charging down the street towards him. Most looked to be Church Militant or Pure Humanity, and a good dozen of them were possessed, ordering the others on. The uber-espers weren’t taking any chances with him. He could feel the controlling minds hovering over the mob like dark boiling clouds. Owen headed unhurriedly towards the mob. Let them come. Let them all come. He was going to teach these scum, and their master Finn, a lesson they would never forget.
Owen shot the first man almost casually. The energy beam punched right through the soldier who was in the lead, and surged on to take out two more. Owen put the disrupter away and took a good grip on his sword. The balance wasn’t as good as he was used to, but he’d manage. There were only fifty of them. The first man to reach him came right at him with an ax in both hands, and mad glaring eyes, and Owen cut him down with a single vicious stroke. The man’s blood was still flying on the air as Owen hacked and cut his way into the howling mob. They broke around him like a wave crashing against a rock, and Owen’s sword rose and fell with cold, professional skill while his ancient Clan battle cry rang on the air:
Shandrakor! Shandrakor!
He hit the crowd like a thunderbolt, cutting through them with a strength and speed that even his old Boost could never have given him. They had every kind of weapon, and no thought in their heads but to kill, but he was the Deathstalker returned, and they never stood a chance. He cut them down like ripe corn, blood and offal falling to splash the street, and they never even came close to touching him. In the end, Owen stood alone in the street, surrounded by the piled up bodies of the dead and the dying. He bent over and looked down into a pair of fading eyes, searching for the controlling mind behind them.
“I’m back,” he said. “And this time there will be no unfinished business.”
He put away his sword, turned his back on the massacre, and strode off into the descending night. He was almost ready to do what he had to do. He’d really come back to the Parade of the Endless only to make his good-byes, and it didn’t seem there was much left he remembered to say good-bye to. Still, the last time he’d disappeared back into the past, he’d thought his life was over. That he’d done all he was supposed to do. That whatever happened, at least he’d be able to rest, at last. He’d been very tired, then. Now, he felt more alive than he ever had.
Hazel, I lost you once. I won’t lose you again. I’m tempted to stay here, to help Lewis kick out Finn and his people, but you’re more important. I have to go back, as far as it takes, even though what I may eventually have to do scares me. But I promised you we’d be together again. And we will, one way or another.
And so he turned his thoughts inward, concentrated his mind in a certain way, and let go of his hold on the present. He fell backward, into time, beyond the Pale Horizon, into the days that were. He dropped back through history, like a stone plunging through water, traveling faster and faster.
Days and nights flickered and were gone, until the planets and the stars whirled around him, becoming a flashing rainbow of colors. Guided by instinct, following a kind of trail only one such as he could even have perceived, Owen pursued Hazel back through history. Eventually the trail he followed was interrupted, and Owen slowed until the stars and their planets resumed their usual imperceptible dance against the dark. The universe came back into focus, the galaxy was still, and Owen Deathstalker hung alone in the long night, looking down at the planets turning slowly below him.
He knew, without having to be told, that this was Heartworld, which would one day be named Golgotha, and then Logres. Heartworld—hub of the legendary, fallen, First Empire.
On board the starcruiser
Havoc
, flagship of the fleet the Emperor Finn had sent to crush the rebellion on Haden, Brett Random was already making trouble. He hadn’t wanted to come aboard in the first place. The thought of being trapped on an Imperial ship had scared the hell out of him, not least because there were any amount of warrants still floating about with various of his names on them, from the days before he became a hero of the Rebellion. It was all very well everyone saying they were all on the same side now, but Brett hadn’t got where he was by trusting people. So, first he volunteered to stay behind on Haden and look after the
Hereward
. Lewis shot that one down immediately. He didn’t want Brett (and quite probably Rose) running around where he couldn’t keep a watchful eye on them. Brett had protested loudly, and it had done no good at all.
Then Brett got up Silence’s nose by demanding officers’ quarters on the
Havoc
for himself and Rose, plus room service and full access to the ship’s dispensary. He was still coming up with new conditions when Shub teleported the whole lot of them en masse onto the
Havoc
’s bridge, and Brett made it very clear that teleporting didn’t agree with him by puking all over the command deck. Captain Price welcomed his new allies on board, carefully not looking at what Brett was doing, and crewmen arrived to take everyone to their assigned quarters. Rose picked up Brett and carried him away, still feebly cursing and complaining.
Price willingly gave up his command chair to Admiral Silence, and stood at his side as Silence lowered himself carefully into the hot seat. It had been a long time since he’d commanded a ship, let alone a fleet. And he still wasn’t keen on accepting the unearned title of admiral, but everyone else had insisted. Apparently, they were even making a new uniform for him. Probably something garish, knowing the current fashion. But, the Imperial navy was still very big on the chain of command, and if they were going to take orders from the Deathstalker, they would much rather it came through one of their own. Besides, as Price diffidently pointed out, there was a vacancy. (Price didn’t explain that this was because he’d shot the previous admiral in the head, for being one of Finn’s creatures, and a complete bloody psychopath. Some things should be kept inside the family, so to speak.) And anyway, Owen wanted it, and he was the Deathstalker, so that was that.
The other Deathstalker was just glad to be out of the very cramped cabins of the
Hereward
. Lewis and Jesamine were currently occupying very luxurious guest quarters, with all the comforts of home and then some. Jesamine had run around the room touching things, bounced on the bed a few times, and then squealed with joy as she spotted the complimentary beauty tech provided. She had immediately parked herself in front of the biggest mirror, and set about undoing all the damage done to her famous beauty from “absolutely ages of roughing it.”