Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

swear Finlay is trying to achieve suicide or martyrdom through sheer excess of fashion. Sometimes I wish he would, just so he'd stop embarrassing me. If he wasn't my eldest, I'd have him smothered in his sleep. There were six others ahead of him, good boys all, but they all died from duels or treachery or politics of some kind. They're gone, and I'm left with Finlay as heir. If the genetest hadn't proved he was mine, I'd swear his mother stepped out on me. And the others are worse, if you can believe that. My blood must have been running thin when I fathered that
    batch. At least Finlay has a mind of his own, even if he doesn't use it much."
    Campbell stopped and looked unhappily at Summerlsle. His voice became low and gruff. "I heard about your son's death. He should never have fought that duel.
    He didn't stand a chance."
    "No," said Summerlsle. "He didn't. But he had no choice. Honor demanded it."
    "You haven't answered my question yet," said Campbell, changing the subject with as near to tact as he ever got. "What has brought you back to court after all your years of self-imposed exile?"
    "Her Majesty summoned me with a personal note in her own handwriting. Said she had someone she wanted me to meet. How could I say no?"
    "I would have. When Lionstone starts taking a personal interest in you, it's time to change your name and head for the Rim." Campbell scowled thoughtfully.
    "What does the Iron Bitch want with you?"
    "She didn't say. Just that my presence was required at this audience. It doesn't matter. My wife is dead, and all my sons. All I have left is my grandson, Kit, and we… don't get on. And I'm too old to be frightened. So here I am, a loyal subject of Her Majesty."
    Campbell's loud bark of laughter turned a few heads, but only briefly. The space around him and Summerlsle was growing. "Your loyalty has always been to the throne, not whoever happened to be sitting on it I don't think you've had a good word to say about Lionstone since she stabbed her nanny when she was six."
    "Oh, I don't know," said the Summerlsle. "I've got a very good word for Lionstone. Only I'm too much of a gentleman to use it." He waited patiently for Campbell's laughter to subside. "Her father was a hard man to love, if not to follow, but I never doubted he had the well-being of the Empire at heart.

    Lionstone cares for nothing and no one save herself. She's a spoiled brat, and always has been. Which is not exactly unusual in royal stock, but bearable when diluted with some sense of duty. We've seen many royal backsides on the Imperial throne, Crawford, but I honestly fear for the Empire under Lionstone XIV."
    "Get out of here, Rod," said Campbell quietly. "Whatever the Iron Bitch has to say to you, I don't think either of us wants to hear it. Nothing good will come of it. Leave now, while you still can."
    "Where would I go?" said Summerlsle calmly. "Where could I go where Her Majesty's hounds wouldn't drag me down sooner or later? I never ran from an enemy before, and I'm not about to start now. She's brought me here to kill me.
    I know that. But I will end my days with dignity, as a loyal subject before his monarch, even if that monarch is not worthy of that loyalty."
    "Very pretty," snarled Campbell. "It'll look great on your tombstone. Why make it easy for her?"
    "It's called duty, Crawford. You must have heard of it. When honor calls, a man must make his stand, if he is a man."
    "As you wish, Summerlsle. Just don't stand too close to me while you're doing it."
    They shared a brief smile and then looked round sharply as the great double doors swung smoothly open, the massive slabs of beaten steel gliding back as though they weighed nothing. A long fanfare rang out, silencing the chatter of the courtiers, and bright light spilled out from the great courtroom of Lionstone XIV. The courtiers moved toward it in fits and starts, like moths drawn to a flame.
    First went the Company of Lords, all those of the first hundred Families of the Empire, those who ruled planets or companies or armies by right of succession in
    the Empress' name. The highest of the high, most noble and acclaimed of Her Majesty's subjects. In theory, at least. They strode into the great courtroom, looking neither left nor right, their heads high. Secretly they felt naked without their usual retinues of bodyguards, advisors and sycophants, but a Lord came alone to meet his Empress, without even a sword on his hip. It was a sign of trust and respect Not to