Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

pressing matters, namely the unholy mess in the Parade of the Endless…"
    "Get your collective asses down here," said Finlay sharply. "Right now. We have to hold this city."
    "Understood," said Owen. "We'll be there. We haven't come this far to miss out on the ending."
    Finlay nodded, and cut off the signal. The image of their serious faces barely had time to clear from the viewscreen before another signal came in. Everyone in the great Hall straightened up a little as a new face filled the screen, and a great many hands dropped instinctively to weapons. The broad, shaggy wolf's-head
    looking down on them was dominated by the long muzzle full of sharp teeth, and the darkly gleaming eyes above, large and intelligent and almost overpoweringly ferocious. It was the Wolfling, the last of his kind, only survivor of the Empire's first attempt to build a superior fighting man. Last of a race butchered and slaughtered by a fearful humankind. Once guardian of the Madness Maze, and now protector of the sleeping Darkvoid Device. Giles smiled broadly at him.
    "Wulf! I've been waiting for you to contact me! When will you be here?"
    "I won't," said the Wolfling. His deep, dark voice was as much a growl as anything else, but an underlying sadness and tiredness took most of the threat out of it. "I told you, Giles. I've had enough of fighting. I've seen too much death and destruction to take pleasure in any more. Lionstone has to fall. I know that. But she'll go whether I'm there or not. You don't need me anymore, Giles. You've moved beyond me."
    "But… we spent so long arguing and scheming over how we'd pull the Iron Bitch down! Don't do this to me, Wulf. Don't leave me here alone. You're my oldest friend, all I have left to remind me of the old days."
    "That was always the difference between us, Giles. You want to remember the past, and I just want to forget it. Let your hatred go, Giles. I know all about hatred. Give it too much hold over you, and it'll eat you alive till there's nothing left in you but it. And that's no way to live. Do what you have to because it's the right thing to do, not because you enjoy it. I'm tired, Giles.
    I've lived too long, seen the Empire change beyond recognition, watched my race fall out of history and into legend. I think it's time for me to let go and follow them."
    "Isn't there anything I can do for you?" said Giles, almost plaintively.

    "Yes," said the Wolfling. "You can kill Lionstone for me. Whatever happens, she mustn't be allowed to escape. Kill her, Giles."
    "Yes," said Giles. "I can do that for you."
    The Wolfling nodded his great shaggy head, and the viewscreen went blank. Giles stared at it for a long moment, and then nodded slowly, as though listening to some private, inner voice. He turned back to the others, and his face was entirely calm and composed, as though daring the others to comment on the emotions they'd seen him display. When he spoke, his voice was brisk and formal.
    "Aliens. We haven't discussed them yet. So far, there's been no sightings of any alien craft anywhere in the Empire since the attack on Golgotha, but we can't afford to forget them. They're out there somewhere, no doubt watching and planning. It's vital we get the rebellion over with as quickly as possible, and order restored. We can't afford to be caught helpless and divided by an invading alien force."
    "And let's not forget Shub," said Owen. "There's always a chance the rogue AIs might try and take advantage of our divisions by launching an attack of their own."
    "God, you're a cheerful lot," said Ruby. "Look, let's just get out of here and get this show on the road. We'll worry about aliens and AIs and plagues of frogs as and when they make an appearance."
    "Right," said Hazel. "We're wasting time here."
    "Good planning is never a waste," said Giles coldly. "Now pay attention. This is how we're going to do it. Owen's been doing some research on old records of the Imperial Palace, back when it was first being constructed. I suppose his being an historian had to come in useful someday. The only way into the Palace today
    is by the underground train system, run and monitored by the Palace's security systems. The train stations are well guarded, and the train compartments themselves are fitted with lethal gas jets, just in case. However, Owen has discovered records of a number of old maintenance tunnels, long abandoned and apparently forgotten. We can use those to bypass the Security guards entirely, and