Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

forth, clutching at their heads as a razorstorm of unbearable thoughts roared in their minds. Vile sights and sensations overpowered their senses, plunging them into Hell, and the ELFs enjoyed every moment of it. A group of thralls nearest the stage seized the opportunity to attack Douglas directly, under cover of the confusion. They lunged at him with drawn swords, but Diana had seen enough. She lashed out with her mind, blanketing the whole square, and the telepathic attack shut off abruptly as every single thrall collapsed as one. Diana turned the thralls nearest the stage upside down and shook them, just for the show of it, before blasting out the occupying minds. The crowd quickly returned to normal, and looked around for their savior. Douglas grinned down at Diana from the stage.
    “All right, you’re hired.”

    The Emperor Finn Durandal was not at all happy about being roused from his sleep at such an early hour of the morning, but since the only people who had this particular private comm number were the ELF leaders, he supposed he’d better answer it. Somehow he just knew it wasn’t going to be good news. He sat slumped on the side of his bed, yawning and rubbing at his eyes, and finally activated the viewscreen built into his bedside table.
    “This had better be important,” he growled.
    The scowling face on the screen was unknown to him, but he expected that. The ELF leaders never showed their true faces; they only ever spoke through their thralls. Even after all this time, Finn had no idea who the ELF leaders really were—one of the many things that had been bothering him lately. The possessed face on the screen looked distinctly upset, which pleased Finn somewhat. If he wasn’t having a good time, no one else should either.
    “We have been attacked,” the ELF leader said flatly. “A psychic assault of incredible power. Many of our people are still recovering.”
    “Who the hell could do that to you?” said Finn.
    “Diana Vertue has appeared in the Rookery.”
    Finn blinked a few times. “That’s a good trick,” he said finally. “Considering she’s been dead for over a century.”
    “That doesn’t mean anything where she’s concerned. She was an avatar of the Mater Mundi, and even the uber-espers were scared of that force. Diana Vertue is back, and she has sided with the Campbell. You should have let us kill him long ago.”
    “Possibly,” said Finn. “But I did so want him to suffer first. Very well, kill him, if it will make you happy.”
    “We can’t. He is protected by Diana Vertue and her army of rogue espers! Already they have cost us hundreds of thralls. Our presence in the Rookery has been almost wiped out! You have to do something!”
    “I am doing something,” said Finn, just a little testily. “I never thought you and your thralls would be enough to stop Douglas from putting together a rebellion, once he came out of his sulk. He always did have a way with words, along with that damned charismatic personality of his. So I’ve been preparing my own little army, to fight specifically in the Rookery. I always knew I’d have to deal with the ungrateful little bastards someday. The Rookery has finally become too dangerous to be allowed to exist. I’ve been reluctant to sign their death warrant . . . partly because there was always the chance that I’d need their special talents again someday, and partly because I’m a sentimental old softy, but . . . Get your remaining people out of the Rookery. I’m going to send in my very best fanatics, to cleanse the place with fire and steel. I will tear down the buildings, and raise a mountain of skulls.”
    “You’d better,” said the ELF.
    The viewscreen went blank. Finn stuck out his tongue at it. He sighed, stood up, and rang for his servants to come in and dress him. No point in trying to get back to sleep now. Not when he had slaughter and devastation to plan. He ordered a series of calls to his generals in the Church Militant. If he didn’t sleep, no one else got to sleep either.

    Pure Humanity and the Church Militant had become one church and one philosophy, under the benevolent guidance of the very practical Joseph Wallace. The shock troops of the Empire now worshiped Finn directly, and natural selection among the faithful, bolstered by numerous purges, had produced an army of implacable zealots and fanatical soldiers. They would die for Finn, though of course they would much rather kill for him. He was the