Deathstalker 07 - Deathstalker Return

multijointed legs briefly.
    "I hate to admit it, but I'm glad she's gone. She is just too weird, even for Shandrakor."
    They pressed on, still heading inwards. Lewis could almost feel the massive weight of the castle, all its many floors and walls of solid stone, all its weight of history and legend and responsibility, pressing down on him. As though he'd never really understood what it was to be a Deathstalker, until now. He'd grown up in his own Clan's Standing on Virimonde, a tall and proud castle hundreds of years old, but it had been nothing compared to this. Men and women who had made themselves into legends had walked and lived and fought and died in this place, this Standing. And others had fought and died here too, in the defense of Humanity, their names and reputations lost to Robert andConstance 's need to remake history into legend.
    Owen would never have approved. He'd always been proud of his modest skills as an historian.
    History was soaked into the walls of this Standing, impressed by the weight of centuries, though no one knew exactly how many. The Empire was old, far older than most people were comfortable remembering. Little now remained of the legendary First Empire, declined and fallen long before even this ancient castle's time, but according to Family legend, some things from that distant time were still to be found here, preserved in stasis fields, like insects trapped in amber— which made Lewis wonder what else might be preserved or trapped here, unwillingly awakened by his intrusion.
    Brett paused to admire a sword displayed on a simple wall plaque. He didn't know why it caught his eye particularly. There was nothing on the plaque about its history, just the name, Morgana. It looked like a good sword, and Brett needed a new weapon after losing his last one during his panic attack in the jungle. So he took the sword off the wall, and slipped it into the scabbard at his waist. It was a comfortable weight, like it belonged there. He looked quickly at Lewis, bracing himself for a stern lecture on the evils of looting, but the Deathstalker was clearly preoccupied with his own thoughts. Brett decided not to disturb him.
    And finally, they came to the great hall. The heart and center of the very first Deathstalker Standing. It was vast, a long hall with massive stone walls, the raftered ceiling mostly lost in shadows high above them. It was also completely empty. No furnishings, no trace of occupants, not even any carpeting on the stone floor or decorations on the stone walls. The party's footsteps sounded loudly in the quiet as Lewis led his people slowly forward into the hall. There was nothing and no one there to greet them, after their long journey into the interior of the castle. Lewis called out a few times, but no one answered.
    They stood around for a while, wondering what they should do next, all of them feeling a definite sense of anticlimax, and even betrayal. In the end, Lewis just said they should all sit down and wait, and get some rest. Let the castle computers wake all the way up, and notice they had visitors.
    Brett growled something under his breath about at least they weren't being shot at, or given the bum's rush, and then he went over and sat in a corner, so he could have his back to two walls, and watch all the entrances. Rose sat down next to him, cross-legged, balanced her sword across her leather-clad thighs, and began cleaning and polishing the blade with a piece of rag. Guide went off into a different corner, to be by himself. Perhaps because he didn't feel worthy to be a part of the great Deathstalker's party; perhaps because he knew the others still found his appearence disturbing; and perhaps because he didn't entirely trust what his insect instincts might push him to, when there was nothing else going on to distract him.
    Lewis sat down before the great empty fireplace, its interior blackened with many layers of ancient soot.
    Jesamine sat down beside him, leaned against his shoulder, and sighed heavily.
    "Tired?" said Lewis. "Feeling sorry you came?"
    "Absolutely bone-dead weary, darling, but… no. Not sorry at all, really. I'm changing, Lewis. I can feel it. The more I have to fight and protect myself, the better I get at it and the better I feel. I haven't felt this self-sufficient in ages. Reminds me of the old days, when I was just starting out, and the only way to get your money out of the club manager at the end of an evening was to put a gun to his head