Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

escape with most of his people, and they were probably already linking up with the invading Empire forces. It wouldn't be long before they came knocking at the front door. David lay back on his bed, gasping for breath. One of the servants had wrapped his gut in layer upon layer of bandages, but there was no doctor. Blood was already seeping through the bandages and staining the expensive bedsheets. Kit sat on the edge of the bed and wondered what to do next.

    He could just leave. He could. The Deathstalker had been outlawed, but he hadn't. He could just leave the Standing, walk up to the nearest Empire forces, and claim the protection his rank entitled him to. The Captain and the Investigator he'd fought earlier might make a fuss, but he could always claim he'd acted in self-defense, and, as a Lord, no one would doubt his word. But the thought didn't tempt him long. He couldn't abandon David.
    The Deathstalker groaned suddenly as he sat up, and Kit was quickly there to support him. David's face was grey now, lined with pain and fatigue, but his eyes were clear. His gaze went to his sword, lying on the bed close at hand, and he seemed to draw some strength from that. He gestured at the viewscreen on the wall before him.
    "Turn on the screen," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "I need to know what's happening on my world."
    "You should be resting," said Kit. "We might have to leave here in a hurry, if the Steward comes back with enough troops to storm the Standing."
    "I'm not going anywhere," said David. "This is my home, the home of my ancestors, and I will go no farther. I'll make my stand here. Now turn on the damn viewscreen."
    Kit shrugged and turned on the screen, and together the rebel Lords watched a montage of terrible scenes on the invaded world of Virimonde. Everywhere, buildings were burning. In villages, towns, cities. The dead lay piled in the fields like some dark, ugly crop. Long lines of refugees filed away into the countryside, carrying what was left of their homes and lives on their backs.
    There was still some resistance. The underground had been established here for many years. They had training and some weapons, but not enough to face experienced ground troops and Imperial war machines. But still the rebels fought
    on, outnumbered and outgunned, making the Empire forces pay for every foot of ground they gained. David watched his people fight and die, staining the ground they fought for with their own blood and that of their enemies. He saw Imperial marines marching through gutted villages, and massive war machines resting in the ruins of devastated cities, and finally he had to look away. Kit turned the viewscreen off.
    "There's only one thing I can do," David said finally.
    "Right," said Kit. "Grab everything we can sell, and make a run for it. There's bound to be someone we can bribe to get us offplanet. Then, I don't know.
    Mistworld, maybe?"
    "No," said David. "I told you; I won't run. I'm going to surrender."
    "What? Are you crazy? The best you could hope for would be a show trial and a swift execution. At least on Mistworld…"
    "No! No. If I surrender, and tell the rebels to lay down their arms, the fighting will end. My people will be safe. Too many have died, Kit. Why prolong the agonies? All that matters now is to protect my people in the only way left to me."
    Kit glared at him. "When did you get so damn noble? They're just peasants!"
    "No," said David. "They're my peasants. The bond of duty and obligation that ties us together works both ways. I never really understood that before." He smiled sadly. "It's taken a long time, but I think I finally understand what it is, to be a Deathstalker. Turn the screen back on. See if you can raise someone in charge."
    Kit saw the determination in his friend's face, and stopped arguing. It turned out to be surprisingly easy to raise the man in charge of the invasion. General
    Shaw Beckett on the Imperial starcruiser Elegance looked out of the screen at the two rebel Lords, and bowed formally.
    "My Lord Deathstalker, my Lord SummerIsle, good to hear from you. Forgive my bluntness, David, but you don't look too good."
    "I'm still here, General." David kept his voice calm and even. "I wish to offer my surrender."
    "Very noble of you, David. I appreciate the gesture." Beckett scowled unhappily.
    "Unfortunately, I have new orders from the Empress herself not to accept your surrender, on any terms. She wants you dead, David, and the rebellion