Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

that was when the Empress Hermione made her appearance, walking unhurriedly through the wide aisle that opened up in the courtiers for her. Owen had been told about the Empress, but her appearance still came as something of a shock. She drifted silently through the cordon of guards, passed by Owen without looking at him, and slowly ascended the steps of the dais to stand beside her husband and the Steel Throne.
    Hermione was fifteen years old, a tall willowy blonde in flowing white silks, and heavily pregnant. Ethur chose her to be the latest of his many brides when she was just thirteen, and no one questioned him because he was the Emperor, and knew best. Her quiet, passionless face looked drained and tired, as though the pregnancy was taking a lot out of her. It wasn’t her first. The moment she became Ethur’s bride, both natural and unnatural methods began, to make her pregnant with the Emperor’s ancient seed. He desperately needed an heir. The first two pregnancies hadn’t lasted till term, but everyone had great hopes for the third. Everyone except Hermione, but then, no one cared what she thought. The process had clearly taken its toll. Her pretty doll-like face held no emotion at all, and her eyes were empty. Ethur stroked her cheek with his long pale fingers, and she didn’t respond at all. Ethur smiled down at Owen.
    “The older we get, the younger we like them. People grow the same so quickly . . . only the young have any real individuality, and it soon fades. All our wives have been such delicate flowers . . .”
    “How many have you had?” said Owen.
    “Who can say? Some were more memorable than others. Some of them gave us children, but we ended up killing all our heirs, sooner or later. Because they were bad, or unsuitable. They were all such disappointments . . . Still, we remain optimistic. We always hope that the next one will turn out better.”
    “Bad blood will out,” said Owen. “And monsters have a tendency to breed true.”
    The courtiers gasped, and the Emperor looked at him sharply before settling back in his Steel Throne. The tubes and cables murmured around him, as though resentful at being disturbed.
    “You are not our first visitor from the future, Owen. Twelve years ago, the Mad Mind came upon us, without warning. It tore this world apart, searching for knowledge we didn’t have. We have come a long way in our knowledge of the body, but even we can’t raise the dead. The Mad Mind refused to believe us. It raged through our cities, blasting open universities and laboratories, killing hundreds of thousands in the process. All our armed forces were helpless against this . . . creature. It abducted our greatest scientists and thinkers, and tore their knowledge from their brains. What she left behind, the discarded husks, would have been better off dead. And finally, with half of Heartworld in rubble or in flames, with the dead piled up everywhere, the Mad Mind disappeared, as suddenly as it had appeared. Our people are still mourning and rebuilding.
    “We know all about monsters, Owen.
    “And now here you are, from that same future, claiming the Mad Mind as a friend. We’ve waited a long time for another of your kind to appear. We set our traps everywhere, specifically tasked to catch and cage your kind. You will pay for the crimes of your friend. Whatever mad hell of a future you come from that can produce such monstrosities—we want nothing to do with it. And hopefully the horrific nature of your corpse, when it finally returns to the future, will be sufficient to dissuade any others who feel like visiting us.”
    “So the cup of tea’s out of the question, then?” said Owen. “Pity.” He looked at Hermione. “I can get you out of here. Take you somewhere else. Just say the word.”
    “I am happy here,” said the Empress Hermione, in a high childish voice. “I belong here.”
    Yes , Owen thought reluctantly. You do. And one day, you will meet a man named Giles Deathstalker, and the child you make together will do such wondrous things . . .
    He sighed loudly, and looked at Ethur again. “There won’t be any more visitors from the future.”
    “Can you guarantee that?” said the Emperor. “Not that it matters. In your position, you’d say anything. You don’t seem nearly as dangerous as your predecessor, but we don’t feel like taking any chances. Not after what you did with the lost city.” He paused suddenly, struck by a thought. “Tell us about your