Free Deathstalker Destiny by Simon R. Green

groups orientated on his. He stared around him coldly, almost sneering, then reached inside his robes and brought out an object wrapped in crackling parchment. Scour unwrapped it slowly, not allowing himself to be rushed by the intent concentration of the others. Inside was a severed human hand, ancient and mummified. The tips of the fingers ended in candle wicks. Scour spoke a few quiet words, and the wicks caught alight, burning with pale blue flames.
    Hazel grimaced. She’d seen such things before, on Mistworld, where they were called Hands of Glory. Made from the severed hand of a hanged man, the superstitious claimed they could open hidden doors, discover lost treasures, and reveal the secrets in a dead man’s head. The arts involved in their manufacture were said to be very unpleasant.
    Scour advanced on the Summerstone, holding the blazing Hand of Glory out before him. Hazel felt a sudden lurch, within and without her, and suddenly the stone wasn’t just a stone anymore. Without moving or changing in any way, the Summerstone was more real, more there; realer than anything or anyone on the great stone plane. Hazel could feel a slow, soundless thudding in the air, like the heartbeat of something impossibly huge, impossibly far away, but at the same time so close she felt she could reach out and touch it. It echoed in her bones and in her water, and something in her responded to it, like the tune of a song she had always known. The presence of the standing stone grew stronger, as though it were the only light and they were just the shadows it cast. The Blood Runners were frozen in place, breathing together in perfect synchronization, their eyes fixed unblinkingly on the Summerstone. Hazel moaned softly as something like pain throbbed in her head in time to the silent heartbeat. She could feel her mind changing, unraveling ... as though something that had always been within her were finally awakening. A great truth trembled before her, like a name right on the tip of her tongue.
    And then Scour blew out the candles on the Hand of Glory’s fingers, reality crashed back to normal, and the stone was just a stone again. The Blood Runners stirred, as though emerging reluctantly from a communal dream. Some of them stared at the stone, and some at Hazel, and it was hard to tell which group looked the most disturbed. Scour glared about him.
    “You see? The stone recognized her. It responded to her presence. If I hadn’t shut it down again, who knows how much power she might have been able to draw from it? She must be removed from here, kept separate from the stone, secured in a laboratory where she can be examined in safety. For all our protection.”
    “Logical,” said a new Blood Runner, stepping forward from his group to confront Scour. “But we must all have access to the subject, and all information derived from the subject. That is not negotiable.”
    “All secrets will be shared, Pyre,” said Scour. “What’s the matter; don’t you trust me?”
    There was a shared murmur of hissing laughter from all present, but there was no humor in the bloodred eyes fixed on Scour. He glared right back at them defiantly, showing his teeth in a smile that was as much a snarl.
    “Why should the pleasures of the interrogation be all yours?” said Pyre. “We all wish to know the joys of penetrating her flesh and blood, to savor her little cries and horrors as she gives up her mysteries one by one. You are too jealous of your pleasures, Scour, and we will not stand for it.”
    “You know, I’m still willing to cooperate,” said Hazel, just a little desperately. “This doesn’t have to be a fight. The things you’re after are secrets to me too. We could look for them together. Perhaps if you were to tell me more about your past and your true nature, I might be able to suggest directions you could look in; things that might not occur to you. I’ve been through the Madness Maze, remember, wielded powers you never even