Deathstalker 07 - Deathstalker Return

death-defying schemes, overwhelming odds and suicide missions, and all the other things that make life worth living. The killing's always good around a Deathstalker. You draw it to you. It is your destiny. Just lead me to the slaughter and turn me loose upon your enemies. It is all I ask of you."
    I want to go home, Lewis thought miserably. I want to go back to when my life made sense, and I
    wasn't surrounded by crazy people.
    Thank you, Rose," he said finally, because he had to say something. "Rest assured that if we ever come to the point where one of us has to make a last desperate stand so the others can escape, I promise I'll think of you first."
    Rose considered him thoughtfully. "How is it, Sir Deathstalker, that a warrior of your renowned abilities never fought in the Arena? I would have been delighted and honored to cross swords with you."
    "I kill for duty," Lewis said stiffly. "When there's no other way to get the job done. Never for pleasure."
    Rose sniffed, and looked away. "Boring," she said, seeming to lose all interest in Lewis. He didn't know whether to feel insulted or relieved.
    "Don't you dare turn your back on us like that," said Jesamine, flaring up immediately at the insult to her Lewis. "Since we're talking about your career on the bloody sands, perhaps you'd care to explain to us just how a complete bloody psychopath got into the Arena in the first place? There are supposed to be a whole series of psychological tests that have to be passed by all would-be gladiators, expressly designed to keep out people like you! So how the hell did you get in?"
    Rose turned back to smile at Jesamine with her humorless crimson mouth. "It was easy. The Arena owners rig the tests. They always have. They realized a long time ago that people like me, the natural born murderers, make the best fighters—the stars who'll give the crowds what they want, and keep them coming back for more. Sane people don't last long on the bloody sands. They get careless, or they burn out too quickly. Come on, what sensible, well-adjusted person would want to fight in the Arena anyway, to face the threat of suffering and dismemberment and even death, over and over again? The Arena is where we go to sate our ancient appetite for blood. I've often thought they should test the crowds… but that would give the game away, wouldn't it?"
    "The Arena is a place to display valor and skill and fortitude," said Lewis. "A testing ground, to bring forth heroes."
    Rose laughed breathily, a dark disturbing sound. "Blood, Deathstalker. It's always been about blood.
    When your civilized men and women go to the Arena, they go to see people like me. To glory in what we do. And afterwards, they dream about being me. Underneath all the culture and refinement of your precious Golden Age, all the old appetites are still there, repressed but not forgotten. Why do you think Pure Humanity and the Church Militant became so popular so quickly?"
    "No," said Lewis. "I don't believe that. I won't believe it. People are better than that. They proved it, by overthrowing Lionstone, and building the Golden Age. We have our dark side, our baser instincts, but it has always been the triumph of Humanity that most of us rise above them."
    "Of course you believe that," said Rose. "You're a Deathstalker. You are the best of us. But you still need someone like me, just as the blessed Owen needed his Ruby Journey."
    "Excuse me," said Saturday. "Fascinating though this conversation undoubtably is to those who care about this sort of thing, I have a question. How is it that you and I never fought in the Arena, Rose Constantme?"
    "Because we were stars," Rose explained patiently. "And the Arena owners didn't want to risk either of us while they could still make money out of us. You wouldn't believe what they make off of
    merchandising alone. They would have given you to me eventually. When they'd made all they could off of you." The pale tip of Rose's tongue moved briefly over her dark lips. "I was looking forward to it."
    "I'm sure it would have been quite delightful," the reptiloid said politely.
    Brett looked disgustedly at Rose. "Hardly a word out of you for days, and now you can't stop talking. A whole new philosophical side to you, and all of it utterly depressing. Why can't you say something nice, just for once?"
    "Sorry," said Rose. "I don't do nice."
    I can't believe what I'm hearing," said Jesamine. "Such corruption, and… vileness, going on right at the heart of