Deathstalker 02 - Deathstalker Rebellion

private but valued source who must of course remain anonymous, that verifies everything the Lord Wolfe had to say. The Lord High Dram is dead. He died on the Wolfling World, cut down by the original Deathstalker himself. The man at your side is at best an impostor, at worst a clone you are attempting to fool us into accepting.
    Well, I for one am not fooled. I must insist that this… person submit to a genetest, here and now. We cannot permit a clone to stand as Consort to Your Majesty."
    "We?" said Dram. "And who might this we be?"
    "I represent a number of my colleagues," said the Member of Parliament. "And I trust I have the backing of every loyal man and woman here. We have a right to know the truth."
    Lionstone leaned forward on her Throne, her face calm and quite composed. "Your face is not familiar to us. You are… ?"
    The MP drew himself up a little farther, his voice ringing out magnificently. "I am Richard Scott, newly elected Member for Graylake East. I won my seat on a platform of reform for truth and justice in government. It seems only fitting that I begin my fight here at Court."
    Lionstone nodded and leaned back in her Throne. "I might have known. There's nothing more pompous and impertinent than a newly elected official. Dram, you
    deal with this."
    Dram nodded, his cold dark eyes fixed on Scott, who was looking a little perturbed. Whatever answer he'd expected to his challenge, this wasn't it. No anger or denial or bluster, just a calm indifference from the Empress and a cold calculating look from her Consort. Scott began to wonder if he'd made a mistake.
    His colleagues had been loud enough in their support earlier, but now they stood silent in the crowd while he stood alone before the Iron Throne. Dram stepped forward, and Scott had to fight down an impulse to step back. He had to appear strong, resolute. Dram came to a halt, standing between Scott and the Throne.
    His sudden smile was cold as death.
    "The Empress has already stated before this assembled Court that I am the real Lord High Dram. By challenging that, you challenge her word. You have, in effect, called her a liar. And that is a dueling offense—a matter of honor. I represent Lionstone in this matter. Find another to stand for you, or you must defend yourself, here and now."
    Scott paled as he saw the trap he'd fallen into. No one would help him now. The field of honor was sacrosanct. He swallowed hard. "Your Majesty, I protest!
    Members of Parliament are by tradition exempt from the Code Duello."
    "Normally, yes," said Dram. "But you insulted the Empress in front of her own Court. That much insult outweighs tradition."
    Scott didn't turn to look behind him. He knew the faces of the courtiers would be closed against him. He raised his hands to show they were empty. "I don't have a sword."
    One of the guards who'd brought in the late head of starport security stepped forward at Dram's gesture and offered Scott his sword. The MP accepted it as
    though it was his death warrant, which in a way it was. He was no duelist, hadn't drawn a sword in anger since his student days. And Dram was the Warrior Prime. If this was Dram, of course.
    Scott hefted the sword once, getting the feel of it. It was a good blade, well balanced. He started to cry. Not a breakdown or anything dramatic; he'd be damned if he gave them the satisfaction. Just a few tears, running down his cheeks. He knew he was going to die. This was an execution, not a duel. He couldn't remember whether he'd told his wife he loved her when he left that morning. He hoped he had. And he'd had that specially imported marble come for the forecourt. She wouldn't have a clue what to do with it. So many things left undone. He shook his head briefly. None of that mattered now. It was too late for anything but Dram and him and their two swords. He looked straight at Dram, and though tears were still running down his cheeks, his voice was cold and hard and determined.
    "Let's do it."
    Dram stepped forward, lifting his sword, and Scott went to meet him. They circled each other a moment, and then Dram launched a blistering attack with all his strength behind it. Scott parried as best he could, but after only half a dozen blows his sword was knocked out of his hand. He watched it sail through the air and land in the snow a dozen feet away. He looked back at Dram, held his head high, and tried to keep his mouth from trembling. There was nowhere he could run, and maybe a good showing would buy