Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

join them downstairs. Your advice and support are needed most urgently."
    Owen swallowed hard, fighting to control his mouth. His lips were numb and his tongue was swollen. He had to answer the messenger, or the man would come in to see what was wrong. And he couldn't afford to be seen like this. If he lived, no one would ever have faith in him again. They'd treat him like an invalid, and hustle him off somewhere safe. He was damned if he'd live like a cripple. And if he was going to die, he preferred to do it in private. He realized that the messenger was still waiting for a reply.

    "I'll be down soon," he said, as loudly and clearly as he could.
    There was another pause, then the voice said, very respectfully, "Lord Deathstalker, the invasion of Mistport has begun. You must have heard the explosions. I'm supposed to escort you…"
    "I said I'll be down soon!" Owen shouted, not caring how his voice sounded.
    He could hear the messenger shuffling uncertainly outside his door, but finally the man turned and walked away. Owen grinned humorlessly. Thick ropes of saliva hung from his stretched mouth. He'd thought the Maze had made him superhuman, carried him beyond merely human limits. It appeared he'd been wrong. He was only human after all, and he would prove it the way everybody did, by dying from it.
    He tried to sit up a little straighter and couldn't. His head grew heavier and heavier, bowing forward until his chin rested on his chest. He could hear his breathing now. It sounded loud and harsh and very labored.
    The pain was beginning to fade. Even a little earlier, he might have found hope in that, but now he knew what it meant. He was dying, and his body was shutting down, bit by bit. He wished the others could have been with him. They might have linked with him, helped him, or just… kept him company. But as always, there was only him. And a voice in his head he didn't believe in. He supposed dimly that he ought to pray, but he'd never been the praying kind. So many things left undone. So many things he'd meant to do and say, because he'd thought there'd be time later… He never even told Hazel that he loved her.
    The door swung open with a crash, and Hazel d'Ark stood framed in the doorway.
    She stared in shock at Owen for a moment, then hurried forward to kneel beside him. She lifted his hand, grunted at the clammy coolness, and took his pulse with practiced efficiency. She pressed her other hand on his forehead, winced at the heat there, and wiped the sweat off her hand on her leggings. She checked
    his pulse against her watch, and then set about undoing Owen's collar so he could breathe more easily.
    "Deathstalker… can you hear me? Owen! Do you know what's wrong with you?"
    "Too much boosting," he said, or thought he said. It was hard to tell anymore.
    He wasn't even sure she was really there. Maybe he only wanted her to be there.
    And then his head rocked as she slapped him sharply across the face.
    "Stay with me, Owen! Did you say boosting?"
    "Side effects," he said hoarsely. "Tearing me apart. Burning me up. The Maze can't help me anymore."
    "Shit," she said softly. "Yes, I remember you warning me about the dangers of the boost. An addiction that can kill you. The curse and the temptation of the Deathstalkers. Damn. Stay put, Owen. Hang on while I get you a doctor."
    "No! Doctors can't help. Hazel, something I wanted to tell you…"
    "It's all right, Owen; I understand. I know what you're going through. I've been through it myself. You're not dying. It's called withdrawal. I'll stay with you.
    I remember what it was like, going through withdrawal from Blood. You won't die.
    You'll just wish you could."
    She sat down beside Owen, wrapped her arms around him, and rocked him like a child. Her arms were strong and steady. A sense of peace and quiet strength flowed out of her and into him. His shivers and muscle spasms gradually slowed and stopped. The pain went out of him like water draining into a bottomless well. The fever ebbed away, and he began to breathe more easily again. And still the strength flowed out of her and into him. They were linked again, finally.
    Their minds remained separate, Hazel maintaining a firm barrier between their thoughts, but physically they became more and more in sync, until all the
    aftereffects of the boostings had burned away, his pain soothed and healed, and Owen was himself again. They sat together for a while, Hazel still holding Owen in her arms.
    "Well," Owen said