Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

both in and outside Lionstone's Court. An aristocrat on Golgotha could no more avoid intrigue than a fish could avoid the water it swam in. And above all that, Arthur had believed in rebellion. Whether for the sake of the
    Empire, or for his own amusement and advancement, Owen still wasn't entirely sure, but more and more he was inclined to give his father the benefit of the doubt. As his own eyes were opened to the evils and horrors the Empire was based on, he understood the need to fight it by any means necessary.
    He still couldn't bring himself to love or forgive his father. The man who'd ordered his trainers to beat the crap out of his son, over and over again, trying to force to the surface the secret inheritance of the Deathstalkers—the boost. A mixture of gengineered glands and special training that for short periods made a Deathstalker stronger, faster, and sharper than any normal man.
    The process worked, eventually, but Owen only remembered the pain and the blood, all to give him access to something he didn't want anyway. Only recently had Owen begun to understand that his father had been desperate to make him a fighter rather than a scholar, because he knew a scholar wouldn't be able to survive the forces that would be unleashed by his death. And he'd been right.
    As Owen became a leader of the new rebellion, and a fighter for justice, so he became his father's son at last. And only once he understood that truth at last, did he begin to understand how much he'd lost, and how much he needed to know who'd murdered his father.
    He looked up as Chance beckoned him impatiently, and moved over to join the big man, standing over a cot holding a girl who couldn't have been more than ten.
    The child wore a shabby dress two sizes too large, and she stirred constantly, as though disturbed by loud voices only she could hear. Her eyes were closed, but she muttered the odd word or phrase now and again. None of them made any sense to Owen. Chance knelt beside her and produced a paper bag half-full of candies. He chose one, molded it between his fingers till it was soft and pliant, then eased it into the girl's slack mouth. She began to chew slowly.

    Chase put his mouth right next to her ear.
    "Time to play the game, Katie. Time to tell me all those things you know. I have Owen Deathstalker here with me. He wants to know who killed his father. Whose hand guided the blade that took his life. Who was it, Katie?"
    The girl frowned, her mouth pursing unhappily, but she didn't wake. She swallowed the piece of candy and spoke in a clear, pure voice. "You asked me that long ago. The answer hasn't changed. It was the smiling killer, the shark in shallow waters, the man who will not be stopped save by his own hand. Kid Death killed the Deathstalker."
    Owen nodded slowly, his face impassive while his hands closed into fists. He hadn't been expecting that particular name, but it didn't exactly come as a surprise either. Kid Death, the Empress's favorite paid assassin for a while, also known as Lord Kit SummerIsle. Now a backer of the rebellion, and a friend of the distant cousin who'd taken the title of Lord Deathstalker after Owen was outlawed. Both currently headed for Virimonde, the planet Owen had once owned and ruled. It didn't matter. It didn't matter that Kit and Owen were on the same side now. Owen would kill him anyway, once the rebellion didn't need him anymore. Kit SummerIsle was a dead man, along with anyone who got in his way.
    Anyone at all. Owen smiled slowly, and his fists unclenched. Something to look forward to.
    "You didn't come here just to ask me that," said the young girl suddenly. Her eyes moved back and forth under her closed eyelids. "There's something else.
    Something you need to know. Ask me. Ask me."
    "All right," said Owen. There was a tightness in his chest, and he had to fight to keep his voice steady. "The last time I was here, one of you told me how I
    would die. I need to know if it's still true. Has anything changed?"
    "No," said the girl flatly. "You die here, in Mistport, alone and forsaken, fighting odds too great to be beaten by any man. And after you're dead, they'll even steal your boots."
    "When?" said Owen. "When does this happen?"
    "That's a time question," said the young girl, turning her head away. "I've never understood time."
    "Try!" said Owen. "Try, dammit!"
    He reached down to grab the child by the shoulders and shake her, but Chance was there first, pulling him away. Owen threw