Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

keeping a safe distance between himself and the Wild Rose. "You have to do it, Rose. It's orders. His orders."
    But still she hesitated, her eyes doubtful, considering a matter that was new and strange to her. When it was right to kill, and when it was not. In her own troubled way, Rose had always considered herself to be an honorable person. Not just a fighter, but a warrior. And for all her joy in the act of slaughter, there were still some things that were right, and some that were not. She couldn't kill the Deathstalker while he was helpless. If only because it wouldn't be fun anymore.
    And while she was still hesitating, a huge dark figure loomed suddenly out of the shadows of a side alley.
    Brett called out sharply, and Rose's hand went immediately to the gun on her hip, but Saturday the reptiloid was upon her before she could draw it. He loomed over her, eight feet of gleaming green scales and muscles, showing all his pointed teeth in a wide terrible smile. He slapped her aside with one of his deceptively small forearms, and the force of the blow sent her flying a dozen feet down the street. She hit the ground hard, all the breath knocked out of her, but still she hung onto her sword. Brett was there beside her in a moment, dragging her to her feet and yelling in her ear.
    "We have to get out of here, Rose! Now! We don't stand a chance against something like that, and we can't afford to be captured!"
    Rose stumbled along beside him, too stunned even to argue. She'd never encountered anything so big and strong and fast before. Not even the Grendel. She was smiling again as she and Brett ran down the street. Next time, she'd be prepared, and the reptiloid would get what was coming to him. She could use some luggage of that particular shade of green. It was good to know there were still some real challenges in the world. She and Brett ran down the street, leaning on each other, and it was hard to tell who was supporting whom.
    Saturday stared after them, and then bent over Lewis. He grabbed the Deathstalker by the shoulder and lifted him half off the ground so he could study the extent of his injuries. Lewis cried out, almost fainting from the pain. Saturday sniffed, and let him fall back again.
    "I know you; King's Champion. Deathstalker. Yes. Is this a mortal wound for your kind? Should I avenge you, or go for help? Advise me, King's Champion. What should I do?"
    "Stop the riot," Lewis said, or thought he said. His head was full of sound and light, and it was hard to make his mouth work. The world seemed very far away. He was cold, his whole body shuddering.
    Shock. He gritted his teeth. This was going to hurt. "Get me on my feet, sir reptiloid."
    Saturday hauled him up easily, and supported Lewis's weight with one forearm while the Deathstalker leaned gasping against the reptiloid's armored hide. He realized vaguely that the sound of the mob had changed. There was still shouting and screaming, but it was more fear than rage now, already dying away, and the slogan shouters were conspicuously silent. Lewis pushed himself away from the reptiloid, the effort bringing beads of sweat to his face. He looked back at the crowd, and saw that they were standing still, staring up into the sky. Lewis looked up too, and smiled shakily as he saw the sky was full of gravity barges. The troops had finally arrived. Broadcast voices were calling for the mob to surrender and throw down their weapons, and ranks of energy guns on the barges moved ostentatiously to follow those who didn't respond quickly enough. Everywhere the fighting was stopped. The riot was over.
    Lewis closed his eyes for a moment in relief, and then looked up at the reptiloid.
    "Saturday. Get me . . . into the House. Regeneration . . . machine."
    "As you wish," said the reptiloid. He looked wistfully at what had once been a mob, but was now just a crowd with its hands in the air. "I came here specially to show Pure Humanity just what an alien can do, when it got annoyed enough, but I seem to have missed my chance. Pity. I was really hoping to find out what a Neuman tasted like . . . Never mind. Bound to be a next time."
    He looked down, and realized Lewis was no longer listening to him, and was in fact barely conscious.
    Saturday shrugged his broad green shoulders, and whistled an old tribal song as he draped Lewis casually over one shoulder and strode swiftly towards the House. People hurried to get out of his way.
    In the House, still sitting stiffly on his