Deathstalker 02 - Deathstalker Rebellion

way that matters, and I won't have you at daggers drawn. Now, make your peace or I'll bang your heads together."
    Owen had to smile. The original Deathstalker had a way of getting to the heart of things. Family was more important than politics, and always would be. Causes come and go, politics mutate and evolve, but the Family goes on. He nodded brusquely to David.
    "I don't want to see you dead, David. I doubt very much we're ever going to like each other, but you're still Family. Just remember that although you currently have everything I had, the Iron Bitch can take it away from you in a moment, just like she took it from me. Watch your back. And watch your own security people, too. They were the first to turn on me when I was outlawed. See me afterward, and I'll tell you about a way out they don't know about."
    "Thanks for the advice," said David. "I'll bear it in mind." He looked back at Jack Random. "Kit SummerIsle and I represent a great many others of our generation: younger sons who'll never inherit and are… impatient with the way things are. Many of them have made careers in the army and the fleet, and they
    might just throw in their lot with the rebellion if they were offered the right incentives."
    "Talk to them," said Random. "But be careful what you promise. None of us can look too far into the future at this point."
    And then he broke off as a group of six men moved purposefully through the crowd toward him, their hologram signals so strong they forced all others aside.
    People cursed and spluttered, but the six men ignored them. They were tall and willowy, albinos with milk-white skin and hair and bloodred eyes. They wore long robes of swirling colors, and their faces had been savagely ritually scarred.
    Everyone knew who they were, who they had to be. The Blood Runners were infamous in deed and legend. They were based in the Obeah systems, a small group of planets out on the Rim, united by a dark and ancient religion based on blood and suffering and possession by deceased ancestors. Murderous fanatics, and proud of it. They were branded as heretics by the established Church long ago, but no one did anything about it. The Blood Runners had a hand in every dirty and illegal trade in the Empire, and their reach was very long. They dealt in everything from Wampyr Blood to clonelegging to slavery, and bowed their pale heads to no one. They came to a halt before Random, who studied them thoughtfully.
    "Wonderful," he said finally. "More complications. What the hell are you doing here? You weren't on the guest list. Hell, you people aren't on anybody's guest list. If you turned up at a funeral, the corpse would walk out on you. In case I'm not hinting strongly enough, get the hell out of here, before we have to have the place fumigated. The rebellion will never be so badly off that we'll turn to you for support."
    "Harsh words from a tired old man," said the leader of the Obeah delegation. "I
    am Scour; I speak for the Blood Runners. We are a people of one race and one religion, with roots far older than your revered Empire Families. We are proud and honorable, according to our traditions, and we have never bent the knee to Lionstone, or any who preceded her. We come to offer our support to the rebellion. We are wealthy. You are welcome to take what you need."
    Random licked his lips. His mouth was very dry. Scour's voice was a harsh whisper, full of age and pain, like the dusky breath of an ancient mummy. Random remembered some of the uncanny things he'd heard about the Blood Runners, and suddenly they didn't seem nearly so unlikely. He didn't want their help. Didn't want anything from them. But the rebellion needed backers.
    "I take it there's a price for your support," he said finally. "What did you have in mind?"
    "To be left alone. We have our own ways, which have endured for centuries beyond counting, and we have no wish to change. Lionstone's new measures threaten our independence. In return for the gifts we offer, we require only to be left in peace. Disapprove if you must, but do it from a distance."
    "What's the catch?" said Random.
    "There is one other thing," said Scour. "A matter of honor. One of your people owes us a debt." The Blood Runners all turned their dead-white faces to stare at Hazel d'Ark. Scour took one step toward her. "You are the only survivor of the starship Shard. The Captain of that vessel made a pact with us. Promises were made and help provided in return for future