Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

haven't felt this alive in years!"
    There was a brief knock at the door, and Angelo cursed quietly to himself as Brett Random slouched in.
    Random nodded to Angelo, and bowed to Finn. He really didn't like being up and about this early in the day, but in this as in so many other things of late, Brett didn't have a choice. He looked dubiously at Finn.
    The Durandal had demanded his presence here but hadn't said why, which was never a good sign. Brett couldn't think of anything he'd seriously screwed up just recently, but. . . His stomach hurt so badly it was all he could do to keep from standing hunched over. He was wearing a new outfit because he'd had to burn the one he'd worn into the lair of the Spider Harps, for his own peace of mind, but he still looked a mess, not least because he'd had to sleep with the lights on and still had a tendency to jump at sudden noises and movements. The uber-espers had disturbed him on levels he hadn't even known he had.
    "You're supposed to wait outside my office until I give you permission to enter," snapped Angelo, trying to establish a little authority on his own territory.
    Brett sniffed and shrugged, and spitefully made Angelo jump and twitch a little with his esp. Finn looked at Brett thoughtfully, and he stopped immediately.
    "Where's Rose?" said Finn.
    "I don't know," said Brett. He looked vaguely round the office, as though he thought she might be hiding there somewhere. "I thought she was with you."
    "Clearly, she is not. I told you to keep an eye on her, Brett. I'm sure I was most specific about that."
    "Oh come on, Finn!" Brett protested, with the immediate verve of a man who can sense a chopping block in the near future. "This is the Wild Rose we're talking about! She goes where she wants to go, and I for one am not stupid enough to get in her way. Besides; I've not been well . . ."
    "Don't whine, Brett. Go and find Rose, right now. And when you've located her, don't let her out of your sight again. Is that clear?"
    "What if she doesn't want me around?"
    "Tell her it is my will. Though feel free to hide behind something substantial while you say it. Now off you go. Hop like a bunny. Contact me when you've found her. Good-bye, Brett."
    Brett sniffed again, and then turned and left the office. Some days things wouldn't go right if he put a gun to their heads.
    He wandered slowly through the massive building of the Cathedral, deliberately taking his time. Finn might be his boss, but he didn't own Brett Random. Well, actually, maybe he did at that, but Brett still had a little pride left that showed up now and again in small acts of rebellion. As long as Finn wasn't around to see them. Like pissing in the coffee maker the last time he'd been left alone in Finn's kitchen.
    After a while, Brett looked around him and found he'd ended up in the great central hall of the Cathedral. He stopped dead in his tracks, impressed almost in spite of himself. The towering walls were
    all veined marble, soaring up to a staggeringly high ceiling covered with magnificent works of art that dated from before Lionstone's time. The huge stained-glass windows were more recent and traditional, showing the stations of the cross, populated with stylized depictions of Owen Deathstalker and his companions. Rows and rows of dark wooden pews stretched away before him, heading for the main altar of sculptured steel and glass, practically a work of art in its own right. Brett wandered slowly down the aisle, then drifted over to one of the pews, and sat down.
    He breathed deeply, enjoying the faint traces of incense on the still air, left over from a previous service.
    No one else was around, and it was all very quiet and very calm. For the first time in a long time, Brett felt almost at peace. He supposed this was what home felt like, to people who knew what a home was.
    His stomach quieted, and his shoulders relaxed. He felt. . . safe here. Even Finn bloody Durandal wouldn't dare raise his voice in a place as calm and serene as this. Sanctity and serenity all but oozed from the pale marble walls. It was like being deep under water, far from the storms that troubled the surface.
    Brett looked around him, surprised at how deeply the Cathedral's great hall affected him. People had been coming here to worship for centuries, and had left something of their peace and grace behind them.
    There was comfort here, and the hope of better things to come. Brett had never been particularly religious. In the con games