Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

rose from the charred and blackened figures burned in iron cages.
    There were others, denied an easy death. A ballerina with broken legs, a poet with his eyes gouged out, and a captured rebel leader with long ropes of purple guts hanging out of his torn-open stomach. And many more. They crawled around on their hands and knees, biting back their screams to prevent further punishment, begging quietly for just a little water. Beckett hoped that most of them were just holograms, computer-generated images called up by Lionstone to add to the
    atmosphere, but he couldn't make himself believe it. Particularly when they tugged at his boots with broken hands and pleaded quietly for just a word on their behalf. He didn't look down. He couldn't help them. He wasn't even sure he could help himself. To distract himself, he studied the armed guards standing in silent ranks behind the Throne. Lionstone had dressed them as devils, with curling horns on their helmets and blazing wings erupting from the back of their armor. Lionstone believed in every detail being perfect.
    Finally she looked away from the viewscreens and turned her attention to Beckett and Dram. They both did their best to stand a little straighter. When she spoke her voice, like her gaze, was icy cold.
    "General Beckett, we have called you here to place you in sole charge of this planet's defenses. We put Golgotha into your hands. Guard it well and keep it safe."
    Beckett stared at her blankly. "But… Your Majesty; I assumed I'd been brought here to take command of your fleet! I am the only one left with the experience and seniority to pull things back together. They'll listen to me! Who else is better qualified for this than I?"
    "Don't presume to argue with us. General," said Lionstone, her voice dangerously calm. "You have your orders; carry them out."
    Beckett bore down hard on his anger, to keep from saying something he might be made to regret later, turned on his heel, and strode out of the Court. He'd been loyal to the Iron Throne all his days, and couldn't change that now. No matter how much he was tempted. Lionstone watched him go, and then turned back to Dram.
    "You will command my fleet, dear Dram. Beckett is too soft, for all his vaunted loyalty. He might hesitate to do the things that must be done. I admired your
    firmness, your thoroughness, on Virimonde, and I need someone at the helm that I can trust implicitly. So you're to be the man in charge, Dram. My man in charge.
    Don't fail me. Don't dare fail me. You'll give your orders from here, at my side. You'll be safe here, and I'll be able to consult with you, as necessary."
    "Yes, Lionstone. But… will the Captains accept me as Commander in Chief? They know I don't have Beckett's experience."
    "They'll serve the Warrior Prime. The man they think you are. That's all that matters. Take my fleet and crush my enemies, Dram. Break them and scatter them and show them no mercy. Just as you did on Virimonde. I am Empress, and I will be obeyed. And afterward… there will be a purging of all weak and disloyal elements such as no one has ever seen before."
    She smiled an unpleasant smile, and Dram made himself nod in agreement. "As you will, Lionstone. Pardon me for asking, but… do you think you would do well to protect yourself further, even here? There's no telling what lengths the rebels or the elves might go to, for a chance to strike directly at you."
    "Don't worry yourself about such things," Lionstone said easily. "I have sent for the best of the best to come here to be my personal bodyguards. No one will get past Investigator Razor and Kid Death."
    Up on the surface, the fighting went on, growing more bloody and more bitter all the time. Armies ran through the streets and crowded the open squares, fighting the Imperial troops for this cause or that, but all united against the monster Lionstone, the madwoman on the Iron Throne. The barracks had been emptied of troops to the very last man, and the two main forces slammed together wherever they met, each convinced that right and destiny were on their side. One fought for order, the other for justice, and there was no room for quarter or surrender in either camp. Both sides had to win overwhelmingly, or see themselves
    devastated by the victor. They fought with swords and axes, force shields and energy guns, and the disturbing, unfamiliar projectile weapons supplied by the underground. Blood sprayed on the air, and men and women fell to lie screaming