It was beautiful.
The dronon ships flew in a V to a great city, perhaps thirty kilometers across, ringed with light. Everynne watched from the portals. The city was built under large domes, and parts of it were green with grass, blue with pools of water. She could see hills and forests under the glass, and clear streams.
The dronon ships hissed low over the city, taking nearly half an hour to make their slow procession. Everynne gazed down on small estates that had once belonged to her mother’s Tharrin advisors. Hundreds of thousands of people could easily live there.
The dronon went to the interior of the city, circled the largest central dome. There was a small palace beneath it situated in some woods. Nothing exotic or costly, simply a functional building where her mother had sometimes performed her duties.
The dronon fighters circled this building twice, then dove toward a gray docking portal at the dome’s edge and landed so softly in the docking bay that Everynne never felt them touch down. She went to Veriasse, stroked his cheek and whispered, “Come, Father. We’re here.”
Unaccountably, Veriasse had fallen asleep. They had not really rested much in nearly twenty hours, and Everynne herself was exhausted. She felt a bit dizzy, unconnected from her body, but she could never have fallen asleep with the end of the journey so near. She jostled him again, and Veriasse woke, blinking. “Yes, yes. I’m coming.”
She got him up, and he stretched, walked straight and tall through the ship’s exit. Gallen, Maggie, and Orick followed them down a long glass corridor into one of the domed cities.
The dronon waited at the entrance to the dome. A wall of dronon vanquishers had formed under the clear canopy, and it seemed strange to Everynne to see their black carapaces shining in the pristine daylight.
Everynne breathed deep in amazement at their sheer numbers. She estimated that at least forty thousand vanquishers had gathered to meet them. Their acidic stench filled the dome, overwhelming the scent of the green grass that they trampled. In the distance, beyond the woods, she could see the palace, a building of purple-gray stone with ivy trailing up its sides.
Atop the wall of living dronon stood their leader, a Lord Escort with facial tattoos that looked like white worms strung beneath his eyes. Veriasse had talked of him often. Xim.
Xim shouted insults in dronon, and Veriasse gave his ritual hand signals, shouted insults in return and challenged the vanquisher to ritual combat, so that he and Everynne could take their rightful place as Lords of the Swarm.
Whereas earlier she had been terrified, now Everynne felt some sense of calm. She controlled her breathing. Xim called for the Rite of Examination, flew down and stalked around her. Unlike Dinnid, he was thorough. He used his whiplike sensors, grasped her dress and pulled it up to examine her skin. Xim tasted her scent thoroughly and stopped at the back of her neck, his sensor brushing against her small scar.
“What is this strange substance?” the vanquisher asked, rubbing at the body paint.
“It is a perfumed soap that our Golden uses to clean her skin,” Veriasse said evenly. “Do you not like the scent? We find it quite pleasing.”
Xim rubbed at the paint. “What is this mark?” Behind Everynne, she heard Maggie gasp.
“It is the mark of a Tharrin,” Veriasse said reasonably. “A coloration variance similar to that found on our nipples. It is common to some of our Goldens.” Everynne was not surprised that Veriasse had chosen to lie. The burn would heal in a few days, but it would be difficult to explain its presence now.
Xim hesitated, and Everynne imagined that he would kill them now for the attempt at deception.
He raised on his hind legs, crossed his battle arms and shouted, “I am Xim, Lord of the Swarm. Our larvae shall eat your corpses. Our vanquishers shall claim your domain. Your hive shall submit!”
His wings flashed, and he flew high into the air, buzzed around the ceiling. All around them, the dronon vanquishers beat their battle arms together, and their carapaces rustled as they shifted, creating a tunnel of living bodies for Everynne and the others to walk through.
They stepped into the dark cave. The dronon vanquishers had stacked themselves so that they could watch the procession, and myriads of heads swiveled to follow their progress. Sensors writhed overhead like black snakes, and many a battle arm hung overhead threateningly.
They did not have far to go. A field of grass lay a hundred yards beyond, ringed with countless dronon. The Golden Queen stood on the far side, proud and tall, whip sensors waving above the crowd. She wore the mantle of Semarritte on her head, a silver headdress with long flowing rows of medallions. Everynne looked at the mantle, the icon she had sought across light-years. To win it would mean her death. To lose it would mean her death.
Royal larvae huddled under Tlitkani’s legs. Xim circled her in the air, then landed in front of her protectively, raised his battle arms high and crossed them. He shouted, “Veriasse, Lord Escort of the Golden Everynne. I have watched your battle with Dinnid. I come now to kill a worthy opponent!”
Veriasse raised his own wrists and crossed them. The two proceeded over the field. All around, dronon began their chant. A familiar thrumming filled the air, and the sound of it raised the hair on the back of Everynne’s neck.
When they were ten meters apart, Xim’s wings flashed and he soared into the air. The ceiling was far higher here than it had been on Dronon, and the vanquisher took full advantage of the larger area, sweeping in faster than Dinnid ever had. He flew toward the setting sun, then turned and screamed toward Veriasse, battle arms outstretched.
Veriasse stood tall and proud in his black robes of office, the dark chains of his mantle flowing down his shoulders. He raised his fists as if to strike, but Xim flashed his battle arms in a rolling blur and flew straight at Veriasse.
Veriasse was forced to dodge, roll away.
Xim repeated the tactic four times, each time veering nearer to Veriasse, and each time Veriasse had to retreat. On the fourth pass, Veriasse got up, holding his ribs painfully. He gasped for breath, and Everynne suddenly saw Xim’s plan. The dronon knew of Veriasse’s injury. Xim sought to aggravate it.
Xim circled the room, continued his charges. On the seventh swipe, he swerved near, slashed with a sensor, whipping Veriasse across the forehead, knocking Veriasse’s goggles aside. Veriasse tried to dodge the attack, rolled to his feet and staggered. Jagget’s black mantle fell from his head.
Blood flowed down his face, covering his eyes. Veriasse tried to wipe the blood away, and Xim swerved short of the roof to the glass dome, pressed the attack. He shot low over Veriasse’s head, spat the contents of his stomach. The acid hit the wound, and Veriasse rolled to the ground, writhing. He tried to wipe his face with his robe.
Faster and faster Xim circled the great room with seeming effortlessness, his legs pumping rapidly as he flew.
Veriasse staggered to his feet, got up and spun in a circle, blinking frantically, his eyes a swollen mess. He tried to wipe the acid from his face. “Everynne!” he shouted.
Everynne cried, “I’m here!” She reached into her pocket, pulled out the bottle of Hope that Grandmother had given her on Cyannesse, opened it and sprinkled a drop on the ground.
Veriasse was still blinking, and though he fixed on the sound of her voice, he didn’t seem to see her. Yet he suddenly breathed easier, stood tall. He closed his ravaged eyes, listened for the sound of Xim’s wings.
Xim came screaming in from above, and Veriasse blurred as he leapt high into the air and blindly kicked.
Yet the dronon had anticipated his attack. Xim had come in high, and now he lashed down with the claw of his hind foot. It cut through Veriasse like a knife, and blood spattered darkly across the grass.
Around the arena, the dronon vanquishers’ humming raised to a roar, and thousands of them began beating their battle arms together. The sound was deafening. Some of them rushed into the arena a couple of paces, as if they would tear Veriasse apart and begin feeding now.
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Veriasse climbed to his feet, blood streaming from his leg, and he shouted. His voice came to her faintly, “Everynne? Everynne?”
“I’m here,” Everynne called. Xim had swerved back into battle, letting the roar of dronon applause block out the warning sound of his clattering wings.
Everynne shouted, “Watch out!”
But it was too late. The dronon vanquisher dropped to the ground, simultaneously chopping with his battle arms. One huge serrated arm crashed down on Veriasse’s head, slicing him nearly in half. The other fell at an angle, chopping him across the belly.
Xim picked up the mangled corpse, held it overhead and paraded with it a few steps, then tossed it to the ground. All across the great arena, the vanquishers fell silent as Xim turned his attention to Everynne.
Chapter 21
Everynne backed away, feeling faint. Xim leapt into the air, landed before her at ten yards, and advanced with battle arms fully extended.
Everynne recalled dully that her gloves were weapons with metal inserts in the knuckles. She raised her hands and shouted.
Suddenly Gallen jumped in front of her, arms crossed at the wrists. He fell down on his knees and shouted, “Lord Xim, I beg you to show mercy to our Golden, as Lord Veriasse showed mercy to your queen. Do not kill her, but mar her only.”
Everynne did not know if the dronon understood Gallen. He did not have a translator. Everynne repeated his words, shouting so that the microphone roared her plea.
Lord Xim leapt over Gallen, advanced on her. His mouthfingers tapped over his voice drum. “I will not spare a Tharrin. You have lost your right to live.”
For one second, Everynne stared up into Xim’s faceted clusters of eyes. Each eye reflected a small image of her, fists raised, defiant.
Xim lifted his battle arms for the killing blow, and she suddenly realized that he thought she would make it easy, he thought she would submit to his punishment as if she were a dronon queen.
She screamed and leapt, smashed his right eye cluster with a fist. Xim twisted, caught her with his sensor whips, and smashed her to the ground. There was a great rushing in her ears, and the world twisted violently. In the distance, she could hear Orick shouting her name.
Gallen leapt up from his kneeling position, spun. He had not understood Xim’s reply to his plea for mercy, so he had remained kneeling.
Now Xim had Everynne on the ground. He raised a battle arm and clubbed her. The blow struck home with a sickening thud, and Orick roared in grief, jumped on the dronon and grabbed Xim’s rear leg, biting into it and pulling back.
The dronon vanquisher leapt, trying to flee the unexpected attack, and part of his carapace came away in Orick’s mouth. Gallen could suddenly see Everynne’s body, crimson blood washing over her golden clothing. Her hand trembled violently.
Orick roared and charged in for a second attack, but Xim backed away, raised his battle arms and chopped a slicing blow that ripped through Orick’s right shoulder.
Orick yelped in pain, spun away from the battle, and Xim buzzed his wings and jumped into the air. He flew a lazy pattern while Orick madly danced in circles, blood and hair spattering across the grass. The dronon’s intent was clear. Orick was already mortally wounded. He did not need to engage in battle until the bear weakened further.
Maggie shouted at Gallen, “Do something! Save them!”
Gallen watched it all, and knew that by dronon law he could do nothing. If he tried to protect Everynne, he would only be destroyed, and he had promised Veriasse that he would clone Everynne, come at some time in the future and challenge the Lords of the Swarm again.
He shook his head at Maggie, shouted, “We can’t,” and saw the horror in her eyes. He recalled Primary Jagget’s predictions. Now that the dronon had formed gate keys, they would march through the Maze of Worlds. The Lords of the Swarm would conquer every realm. There would be no future. He had to act.
Everynne twisted on the floor, struggled for something in her pocket. Gallen stood, amazed that with such a wound she could still be alive. He watched her pull out the small vial of Hope. It rolled from her hand.
If I were the greatest warrior in the world, what would I do? Gallen wondered. And he stood, closed his eyes, and tried to clear his mind. He waited, but nothing came.
Maggie shouted at him, raised her hands over her head, crossing her wrists. “Gallen, I am Golden!”
He studied her face, wondering at the possibility. Could she challenge the dronon? And even if she won, what could she do. Maggie had suffered tremendously by wearing a Guide. The knowledge that it so ruthlessly imparted had ripped at the very fabric of her sanity, yet it was nothing compared to the wisdom of the omni-mind. To wear the mantle of Semarritte would destroy her. Even if it did not crush her as the Guide would have, it would tear away her identity.
All of Maggie’s hopes, all her thoughts and dreams would be like words written on a sandy beach, waiting to be erased by the onrushing tide.
“Are you sure?” Gallen shouted. No matter what happened, he was consigning her to destruction. Yet she alone had worked under the dominion of the Lords of the Swarm. She knew the price that whole worlds would pay if she failed.
“Please!” Maggie cried.
Gallen turned. Lord Xim was flying low over the arena, circling back to finish Orick.
Gallen raised his hands, crossed his wrists. “This world is ours! All worlds are ours! A Great Queen comes among you. Prostrate yourselves in adoration, or prepare to do battle!”
The room fell silent, and ten thousand vanquishers looked to Gallen. Lord Xim flew low over Orick, dropped in front of Gallen. The dronon began clicking his mouthfingers, and Gallen went to Veriasse’s corpse, pulled out the translator from his ear, plugged it into his own.
“You claim this woman is also Golden?” Lord Xim asked.
“Yes,” Gallen said. “She is a Golden from the world Tihrglas. All who know her adore her. I am Gallen O’Day, Lord Protector of that world, and her Lord Escort.”
He looked at Maggie, standing there with her long red hair streaming out, her clear blue eyes. He’d seen the longing in men’s faces as they watched her work in the inn back home. Nothing he said was a lie.
Yet Gallen feared that his plan would not work. The dronon lived by their rigid order, their code of honor. He only hoped that his actions and words fit within that order.
Xim seemed agitated by Gallen’s claim. His head swiveled from side to side, and he walked in a circle, dragging his injured leg. “You bring two Goldens and two Lord Escorts?” he asked, confused.
“Yes,” Gallen said. “We humans are soft. We did not think that one pair would be enough.”
Xim stopped in his tracks, raised his head questioningly, whip sensors waving. He tilted, so that his rear eye cluster faced his Golden Queen. “You must rule on this,” he begged.
The Golden Queen raised her head, studied Maggie and Gallen. “She is not a Tharrin,” the queen said, “and therefore cannot be a Golden among the humans.”
“Do you accept challenges only from the greatest hives in your realm?” Gallen asked. “Do only the Goldens who come from your greatest families deserve the privilege of battling for the Right of Succession? Maggie and I come from a small world, a Backward world. We don’t have any fancy lineage. We had never even heard of the Tharrin until a week ago, but on my world, Maggie is as Golden as they come.”
The Golden Queen’s whip sensors stopped waving as she considered his argument. “The omni-mind contains no useful information about your world or your culture,” she said after a long moment. “I cannot corroborate your claims. Still, if you seek to battle Xim, you will find only your own death. You may battle.”
Xim stalked over to Maggie, his whip-sensors waving. He pulled at her clothing, searched her scalp. Gallen didn’t know if Maggie had any scars. He’d never seen her undressed. Gallen held his breath. Xim’s prodding revealed a few moles on her back, nothing more. Throughout the search, Maggie simply glare
d at the lord, as if she wished only to bash in some more of his eyes.
When he finished, Xim raised his wings and shook them angrily. “Our offspring shall eat your carcasses! We shall rule your land! Your hive shall submit!”
Gallen could not remember what challenge Veriasse had called out next, so he was forced to innovate.
“Bullshit!” Gallen raised his fists. “I’m going to knock out your brains and use your hollow skull for a planter!”
Xim stood silently, apparently perplexed by this nonstandard verbal affront. All around the arena, dronon vanquishers began making thrumming noises.
Xim launched into the air, circled high above the arena. Gallen watched him, considered how best to handle the creature. Veriasse had opted for low dodges, a kicking attack. Gallen’s mantle flashed images before his eyes, showing the dronon’s weak spots.
Gallen wondered what Xim would do if Gallen opted to go over the top. Xim swerved, dove toward Gallen, a frontal assault with his battle arms extended. Xim swept low to the ground, as if afraid Gallen would dive from his reach. Gallen rushed forward, vaulted into the air and twisted, kicking at the vanquisher’s face with all his might, hoping that he could avoid its serrated arms.
Xim was traveling at tremendous speed, and Gallen’s assault took him by surprise. His face smashed into the steel-toed boot with more force than Gallen could ever have mustered.
Gallen felt a sensor whip snap off at the impact, and Xim’s head slammed into the ground. Gallen tumbled through the air, fell on his back. His mantle got knocked off his head, was tangled in the claws on Xim’s rear leg.
Somehow in the impact, one of Xim’s battle arms had grazed Gallen’s leg, slicing it open. It bled profusely, but Gallen didn’t have time to bandage it. Gallen scrambled to his feet as Lord Xim rushed toward him, but Xim suddenly buzzed his wings, flew high in the air, and tossed Gallen’s mantle over the crowd.
Only seconds before, Gallen had felt confident, controlled. Killing a dronon in unarmed combat had seemed not only possible but easy. From moment to moment, the mantle had sent him images of the weak points on a dronon’s carapace, but suddenly he felt emptiness, a yawning void.
The Golden Queen Page 33