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really not going to like this, Sir Deathstalker, but please don’t blame the messenger for the message. I . . . happened upon certain files in Finn’s computer that he thought he’d hidden behind some really quite superior protection. The files contained some of his future plans, in some detail. I’ll let you study the data crystal later, but the Durandal’s most unpleasant scheme . . . was his intention to have all the Paragons ambushed, as they set out on their great quest to find Owen Deathstalker. Apparently the idea is that they will be overwhelmed by superior forces while they’re separated and far away from any hope of backup. Finn wants the Paragons taken out of the picture. Probably because he sees them as the only real threat left to his long-term ambitions. Or perhaps because he’s always hated them. For being what he only pretended to be.”
    “That’s it,” said Lewis. “No more arguments. I’m turning this ship around right now. We are going back to Logres. The Paragons have to be warned.”
    “No!” Jesamine said immediately, grabbing at Lewis’s arm as he reached for the control panels. “Stop and think for a minute, Lewis. Please. Even if we did go back, who’d listen to us? Who’d believe us? That’s if they didn’t just shoot us all on sight. You can bet good money that Finn has absolutely no intention of allowing any of us our day in court. We know too much about him. We can’t put our heads back in the lion’s mouth, Lewis. Our mission is more important. It has to come first.”
    “Some mission,” said Lewis, but his heart wasn’t in it. He knew she was right. “Even supposing we can track down whatever survivors remain from the age of heroes, who’s to say they’ll be in any shape to help us, after all this time?”
    “They might hold the key to finding Owen,” said Jesamine. “Or maybe even the missing Hazel d’Ark. They have to help us. We need them now more than ever, to stop the coming Terror as well as Finn bloody Durandal!”
    Lewis said nothing, remembering the dry gray words he’d heard on the Dust Plains of Memory. Owen was dead. He died long ago, in a dirty back alley on Mistworld. Except . . . he had been seen alive, in the future. Lewis still wasn’t sure whether he believed that or not.
    “So,” he said, to avoid having to say anything else, “where are we going first? What planet do we choose as our destination? We’re going to have to drop into hyper soon; the longer we stay in normal space, the better the odds are some pursuit ship will bump into us by accident.”
    “There’s not many places we can go,” said Brett, “in this depressingly honest Empire.”
    “There’s always your homeworld, Virimonde,” Jesamine said tentatively to Lewis. “I mean, surely they wouldn’t believe the lies Finn’s been spreading about you?”
    “My family won’t,” said Lewis. “But Virimonde is a poor world, and poorly defended. Even if my Clan could persuade the planetary council to harbor us, they couldn’t hope to hold out against an Imperial punitive strike force. And you can bet there are elements there who would betray our presence to the Empire—for money or patronage, or just because they believed it was the right thing to do.”
    “He’s right,” said Brett. “There are scumbags everywhere these days.”
    “I say we go straight to Haden,” said Saturday. “To the Madness Maze. You are a Deathstalker, Lewis. Your fate is inevitably linked to the Maze. Even on Shard we know the story of the Owen, and his journey through the Madness Maze. How it made him so much more than human. If we were to all go through the Maze, what mighty beings might we become? We could take on the whole Empire, and bring it to its knees in a sea of blood and offal!”
    “I like him,” said Rose.
    “I wonder if I overlooked anything in the medicine cabinet . . .” said Brett.
    “Excuse me!” Jesamine said loudly. “Hello! Sanity calling! This is really not a