Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

fellow Paragons. Not after Finn had just saved them all from the ELFs. Finn was the Champion now, and one of the most important and respected men in the Empire. Which made Emma's decision even more imperative. If Finn really was as dangerous as she thought and believed he was, she had to convince someone important, and soon. Someone important enough, and brave enough, to take a stand against the adored Durandal, while there was still time. Because somebody had to do something, to protect the King from his own Champion. Because who would have an easier job of killing the King than his own defender? If Finn decided that he wanted to be King ... if that had been his plot all along . . .
    Emma growled loudly in frustration, and threw her ice pack across the room. She had dreamed for years of coming to Logres as a Paragon, to work alongside her hero and inspiration, Finn Durandal; and now her dream had turned into a nightmare. She was isolated . . . like the Deathstalker was isolated. And if she wasn't very careful, she might end up being accused of treason by Finn Durandal, just like Lewis . . .
    At Court, alone in his sumptuous private quarters, Douglas Campbell sat slumped in his favorite chair, staring at nothing. He had a brandy glass in one hand, but hadn't noticed it was empty for some time now.
    His people had just brought him news that Lewis Deathstalker had freed Jesamine Flowers from the Bloody Tower, and were both now on the run, somewhere in the city. Douglas had acted angry, shouting and cursing and throwing things, because it was expected of him; but secretly he was relieved. He'd had Jes put in Traitor's Wing rather than a standard prison specifically so that Lewis would be able to rescue her. He'd even arranged for Jes's fan clubs to find out where she was being held, just so they'd be sure to protest outside the Tower in force, and act as a distraction. Douglas hadn't wanted Lewis or Jes to die.
    Even after all they'd done, they still mattered to him. He hadn't wanted any of his guards to die either, but it seemed many had, defending the Tower . . . And reports were coming in that Lewis had had unexpected help; from his father's old friend and adviser Samuel Chevron. What the hell did that mean?
    Why had Chevron of all people involved himself in open treason? Douglas had put in a call to his father, but so far William hadn't answered.
    The King raised his brandy glass and finally realized it was empty. He put it down on the richly carpeted floor beside his chair, watched it fall over, and then looked slowly around him. The two big mahogany tables were covered with piles of brightly wrapped presents that had arrived from all over the Empire in advance of the Royal Wedding. Douglas wondered vaguely whether he'd have to send them all back now. He hoped the senders had thought to keep the receipts, but doubted they had. Most people didn't.
    The packages had all been sensor scanned, for bombs or perishables or other unfortunate surprises, and Douglas had glanced briefly through the list. All pretty predictable, really. Tacky, tasteless junk that neither he nor Jes would have given house room under normal circumstances. And the more expensive stuff had really been nothing more than bribes, from minor politicians and the like looking to ingratiate themselves, in hope of future patronage. But there'd also been a lot of small stuff, from small people, just expressing their happiness at the forthcoming marriage. Douglas felt bad about disappointing them.
    He wondered tiredly who Parliament would want him to marry next. They'd have to choose someone soon. Someone popular, and worthy, and safe. The public was all fired up for a Royal Wedding, for a time of parties and self-indulgence and celebration, and they were in no mood to be put off for long. And the House badly needed something big and moving and gaudy to distract the public from thinking too
    much about the coming Terror. So Douglas was pretty sure he'd be marrying someone soon. He supposed he could have some input into the choice, if he insisted, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
    He'd just lost his only real love and his only real friend; and the best he could hope for was that he'd never see them again. That they'd have enough sense to go deep into hiding, and stay hidden. The people could have long angry memories when it came to people who disappointed them; and they could be very vindictive, if presented with a chance for revenge. There'd never be