Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

men. I've known her a lot longer than you have."
    "This time it's different!"
    "That's what they all say! You think you're the first man to come crying to me over Jes? I have been here before, and it always ends in tears."
    "I thought she was your friend."
    "She is. That's why I don't have any illusions about her. Though this time ... I thought she'd have more sense. I thought you had more integrity! Don't come looking to me for forgiveness, or support. Don't expect me to pat you on the shoulder and say Hey, these things happen. This is treason we're talking about, Lewis! When this gets out, and you can bet your last credit it will, almost certainly sooner rather than later, it could destroy the Throne and the House and everything else we've spent our life supporting and believing in!"
    "I know. But soon ... it will all be over. She's going to marry Douglas, and I'm going off on the great Quest. And everyone will live happily ever after. Eventually."
    Anne looked at him sharply. "There was something in your voice, just then . . . when you talked about the Quest. Don't you even believe in that anymore?"
    Lewis hesitated, and looked away, unable to meet her eyes. He couldn't tell her Owen was dead. She wouldn't be able to keep it to herself. She'd feel duty bound to tell. . . someone, and once the word started spreading it would never stop. It would be all over the media . . . Lewis couldn't be responsible for that. It would be cruel to take away Humanity's last hope, in the face of the coming Terror. He looked back at Anne, trying to frame some comforting lie, but her eyes bored into his, and the words turned to ashes in his mouth.
    "The AIs told you something, didn't they?" Anne said suddenly. "What is it? What could be so bad, that
    you don't want to tell me? What do they know, that they've kept from us?"
    And still he couldn't tell her the truth, so he told her a partial truth instead.
    "They showed me records .. . from the days of the Rebellion," he said quietly. "Showed me Owen and Hazel and the others, the people rather than the legends. It was . . . disconcerting, to see them as only human, rather than myths in the flesh. They were glorious, magnificent; great fighters. But they didn't look like miracle workers. Maybe humans, even those who've passed through the Madness Maze, won't be enough to stop something like the Terror. It might not be wise to pin all our hopes on them, even if we can find them."
    "But. . . they had powers! They did . . . amazing things!"
    "Did they? Or is that just part of the legend? The stories Robert and Constance made up, to inspire us?
    Shub told me many things, but in the end what I saw was just a man called Owen. A great man, certainly.
    But whatever my ancestor was, he wasn't the god we've been sold for the past two hundred years."
    Anne frowned. "Maybe not. It doesn't matter. Your ancestor and his friends worked a miracle once, when they overthrew Lionstone and her evil Empire, and laid the foundations for our Golden Age.
    Maybe they can do it again. They could still be alive, out there, somewhere. The Quest is necessary, Lewis. We need to find Owen, if only to inspire us again. Tell me; if it turned out that you were the one to find the blessed Owen . . . what would you say to him?"
    Lewis sighed. He'd tried to hint at the truth, but she didn't want to hear it. He considered her question honestly, surprised to find that the answer mattered to him, as well as to her.
    "I think I'd ask him . .. where he found the strength, to make so many hard decisions. And perhaps ... I'd ask him to come back and be the Deathstalker, so I wouldn't have to be anymore. Selfish, I know. But sometimes, this name weighs so damned much. People expect so much of me because of it. And just like Owen, I'm not allowed to be only human, with human needs and weaknesses . . ."
    He rose abruptly from his chair and slammed the coffee mug down on Anne's desk, slopping hot coffee everywhere. He paced around the office, not looking at Anne, circling the confined space over and over again like a caged animal, while Anne watched him warily from her chair. He was scowling now, his eyes far away; his ugly face flushed with anger and frustration and something that might just have been despair.
    Barely suppressed violence showed in the bulging muscles of his arms, in the set of his shoulders, and the heavy tread of his feet. It frightened Anne to see Lewis like this; a strong man reduced to baffled indecision. He