Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

to know. But you never wanted to talk about it, so I never pressed the point. What brought this on all of a sudden?"
    Finlay shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I just got a taste of my own mortality out there today."
    Georg sniffed. "About time. Just because you've always won, it doesn't mean you can't lose. You've been getting cocky lately. If there's one thing the Arena teaches us all, it's that it doesn't matter how good you are; there's always someone better."
    "Like who?" challenged Finlay, throwing aside his towel and reaching for his other persona's clothes.
    "Well, Kid Death, for one. He's the new Summerlsle now. You keep well clear of him. He's crazy."
    "And that makes him unbeatable?"
    "In practice, yes, because he wouldn't care about dying himself if it meant he could take you with him. For once in your life, listen to what I'm telling you.
    I didn't train you to be the best in the Arena just to lose you to a genius madman with a sublimated death wish."
    "Point taken." Finlay sat down on a nearby bench to pull on his knee-length leather boots. "I have been getting a little obsessed with the fighting, just lately. The Arena feels so clean and uncomplicated after the endless intrigues and politicking in high society. Every word has a dozen meanings, every statement a dozen levels, and you can't turn around without tripping over a conspirator murmuring in a traitor's ear. Luckily my Family, and everyone
    else's, considers me a coward as well as a fop, so mostly I get left on the sidelines as not worth bothering with. There'd be no glory in defeating the likes of me in a duel, and I haven't the wit to be trusted in a conspiracy. I always knew that persona would come in handy. It keeps me out of intrigues, protects my secret, and affords me endless amusement. Ah, life is good, Georg.
    Though death is more fun."
    "Hang on to that good mood," said Georg. "You're going to need it. In case you've forgotten, and you probably have, you asked me to remind you that you have a wedding to attend this afternoon. It sounds pretty important; only for direct members of the Families involved. A distinctly minor noble such as myself wouldn't even get past the door."
    "Now don't get touchy," Finlay said briskly, putting the finishing touches to his outfit and regarding himself thoughtfully in the full-length mirror. "You wouldn't like it anyway. No excitement, no bloodshed; just determinedly polite voices, fattening finger food, and inferior champagnes. It is a rather important occasion, I suppose, if you're interested in such things. A cousin of mine, Robert Campbell, is to marry one Letitia Shreck, and thus bring the two Families together. An arranged marriage, of course, for cold and practical political reasons. The two Clans have been at each other's throats for as long as anyone living can remember, but right now we find ourselves in need of mutual support against common enemies, so all the bloody hatchets are to be buried in a wedding. It'll all end in tears, of course, but no one gives a damn about that.
    Doesn't matter if they never see each other again, really, as long as they donate sperm and egg to the body banks and remain officially married. Poor Robert and Letitia. Never even met each other, as far as I know."

    Georg smiled. "You're going to find it terribly quiet and dull after today's excitement in the Arena."
    "Not necessarily. There are times when Family gatherings can be more dangerous and loaded with traps than anything you'd find in the Arena."
    Georg shrugged. "I keep well clear, myself. A minor son of a minor House, too small to be noticed, that's me."
    "If only they knew," said Finlay, smiling. "Sooner or later you're going to get tired of being civilized, and the Arena will call you back. You can't fight it; it's in the blood."
    "No," said Georg. "I woke up from that nightmare and found peace. I'm just hanging on here till you do, too."
    "Then you're in for a long wait," Finlay said flatly. "I couldn't give this up if I wanted to. It's all that keeps me sane."
    Georg raised an eyebrow. "Given where we are, and what you do, sane is a relative term."
    And then they both looked round sharply as the door swung open behind them.
    Which should have been impossible. The security system on the door was supposed to be state of the art. Finlay snatched up his sword Morgana, still bloody from the angel's death, and Georg produced an energy gun from somewhere. A nun walked through the door, all billowing black robes