Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  John shivered, gazing at Agneta, or the dream of Agneta, with a growing sense of horror and wonder. “This is what your sister meant, isn’t it? Pieces in play, a thousand years in the making.” He swallowed, gazing at the board. “But it’s not me, is it?”

  Agneta solemnly shook her head. “We never thought so, John. But however dim your light, you still burn with destiny's fire, having fused the fates of Terran mage, Jordian Highlord, Horror, and Faerie all into one being. And the piece we had sought to claim is Oblivion’s tool as much as our own. We can no longer be certain if we have two pieces upon the board, or if the piece we need so desperately is you.”

  Her gentle smile was almost sad. “This was never foretold, Johnathan. According to all our predictions, you shouldn’t even exist.”

  John’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you, Agneta.”

  Her brilliant smile eased the bitterness in his heart. “But you did, John. Freed me from a Horror’s embrace, allowing me to waken once more from the mortal dreams I had savored for countless centuries, living and dying as a child of man blessed with the gifts of forest and field.”

  John swallowed. “Mary. The other children. Will they be...”

  “Still mortal? Yes. Though raised by Elder Greenwood, who was once my great grandfather and comfortably strides upon both worlds, they shall be far more in tune with their Arcadian Powers than any of our mortal kin sired before them, blossoming with Arcadia’s gifts, much as you yourself have.”

  John swallowed. “What happens if your… piece fails to claim the board?”

  Tears streamed down Agneta’s porcelain cheeks. “Then Dominion dreadnoughts will flood the skies of Jordia and our enemies will do their utmost to destroy our sacred forests and fields, to corrupt our lands, to persecute and sterilize every sentient being who does not adhere to Dominion genetic norms. Unless we would dare to embrace Oblivion’s dark gifts ourselves and engage in mutually assured destruction, we would fade away to legend and dream forever more.”

  John’s thoughts began to race, wondering if he dared follow through with the crazy seed of an idea planting itself within his head.

  He licked suddenly dry lips, swallowing his parched throat, taking a deep breath of pristine air, gazing out at the wondrous panorama of forests and fields and far-off snow-capped mountains in the distance, knowing, somehow, that Agneta had transported him back to Arcadia, at least in his dream.

  “If your pawn falls, you lose everything. Because everyone with mixed blood is killed, and all the connections to Arcadia are destroyed. And that will happen the moment your piece is removed from the board, but not before then. As long as he lives, there is hope. Is that about right?”

  Agneta solemnly nodded. “Yes, John. That is so.” A sad smile flickered across her beautiful face as warm hands caressed his cheek. “You may keep the dice of probability rolling a bit longer in your own head, dear one. Hide your cards for a few hands longer, but the moment a black card taps your own, your hand will be revealed, and you will be in play.”

  John’s eyes widened, flashes of esoteric Readit posts suddenly making an odd sort of sense. “You mean Justiciars, don’t you? They’re the ones who formally declared, well, the human contender.”

  Agneta’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Say Terran, Johnathan. For Jordians consider themselves the most ‘human’ of all people, and we all know how they view the people of Earth.”

  Not looking away for a heartbeat, Agneta at that moment appearing just as she had while living the dream of the Dominion Captain who had so captivated him, John slowly wrapped her hand tightly about the glowing orb of light and whispered his wild plan into her ear.

  Agneta gasped and paled. “Johnathan Everwood, you don’t know what you’re doing!”

  “Never stopped me before. Will your grandfather be there? If this conversation I’m having with you is real, if this is more than a dream… will it work?”

  Agneta lowered her gaze, peering intently at the board before giving an uncertain shrug. “I don’t know, John. Honestly? I don’t know.”

  John nodded, suddenly understanding exactly what he needed to do.

  22

  “John! You have to flee!” John frowned at the memory of Sade’s panicked voice as the last flickers of dream slowly faded away.

  Saving throw failed!

  Suddenly disoriented and confused, not knowing who he was, where he was, what was happening to him.

  A dizzying sensation he had felt so often in his childhood.

  Why couldn’t he remember?

  “You awake there, Johnny-boy?”

  John groaned, rubbing sticky eyes, feeling strangely off-kilter, like he had just gotten off the Cyclone at the local amusement park before his best friend’s grinning face snapped into focus. Thankfully, and perhaps surprisingly, he wasn’t in any pain.

  But wait… that’s not right. The handsome, slightly older kid he admired so fiercely wasn’t his best friend, but his brother, and John himself was little more than an experiment who could now regenerate. Even regrow lost fingers, which had been a chilling thing to witness, for all that he was grateful to have all his digits back in perfect working order.

  Mitch’s bemused smirk hardened into a glare. Then he looked away. As if he was ashamed.

  “I’m still your best friend even if I’m more than that, so don’t be such a cynical ass when you stare at me.” He chuckled softly at John’s expression. “I can still read you like a book, bro.”

  Mitch sighed, and John noted he was no longer kitted in a simple padded mail hauberk. Mitch had augmented his gear with breastplate, pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves, wearing a sallet on his head even now. The open-faced helm didn’t impair vision or breathing in the slightest, and John could read his brother’s expression perfectly.

  “I’m sorry that hard-ass never let me train you properly in the ways that define our kind."

  Mitch’s golden eyes grew reflective, staring off into pristine wilderness some distance off, clearly visible through the window panes of the rather luxurious room John found himself in, his bed as plush and comfortable as any he had ever slept in, for all that the finely polished hardwood furniture and general décor made him think of 18th century aristocrats from whichever teledrama his girlfriend at the time had enjoyed watching when he was dozing off in their arms at Mitch’s place after a bout of passionate lovemaking.

  Wait, he didn't have a girlfriend, did he? But the girls Mitch would set him up with after they'd spend the entire day training for that summer that had stretched to at least a year… was that even real? Had it even happened to him?

  John shook his head in momentary confusion as his brother spoke on. "But at least I was able to do something for you, right? Train you like the dickens. Hell, train us both, and show dad just what Farreach blood was capable of." Mitch flashed a bemused, almost self-mocking smile that nonetheless hinted at a forlorn hope. "I actually thought that if we had excelled enough, I could have shown him just how capable we were at taking down Horrors in our human forms. I thought, maybe..."

  “That dad would give enough of a fuck to let me stay human? Trust in my bloodhound senses to track those monsters down and use whatever odd, freakish mutations allow me to what, kill them more effectively? Drink down their souls?" John smirked, shaking his head. "Honestly, Mitch. It all sounds much more like dark magic than genetic mutation."

  “I know," Mitch enthused. "That's exactly what I was telling Dad! We needed to be cloning you for magical aptitude, not genetic malleability! Considering who your mother was..." He winced. "Anyway, my point is, there was no reason why you couldn’t do what had to be done and still be human. Still be, well, fuck it. My brother and friend.”

  Hunter’s Sense Activated. 10 Mana spent.

  Castling Activated. 20 Psion spent.

  He held out his now naked hand, and John, despite the swirl of emotions racing through him, didn’t hesitate to shake it. His mind was now warded, an
d it was as if he was peering into Mitch’s golden gaze through tinted lenses. His own brother’s brows widened with surprise. But what mattered to John most was his brother’s sharp scent. John could all but taste his brother’s worry. Free of all fear, all anger.

  John didn’t need to read his brother’s mind to understand.

  He was afraid John would want nothing to do with him, that he would be forced to look in the mirror of his soul and realize what a craptastic excuse for a brother he had been.

  “John...”

  John shook his head. “Don’t say it, Mitch. I know. Had you taken me and run… yeah. I have the sneaking suspicion other versions of you tried that before. I’m guessing it didn’t end so well.”

  His brother swallowed and looked away. “Shit. You can say it so plainly. I can’t...” He shuddered. “I can’t even imagine Dad doing that to me, but... yeah. I guess I always forced myself to toe the line until now, because in my gut I know he'd take me out just as fast as he would, well, you, if I ever dared to cross him."

  Mitch shook away his gloomy, apologetic gaze, chuckling softly with the sardonic grin John knew so well. "And shit, you're actually warding your mind! I am impressed, John. Damn impressed. Who taught you?"

  John’s smile turned wistful. “A beautiful woman. Strong, fierce, captivating.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know her nearly as well as I would have liked to. But if I had had the chance, who knows? She might have been the one.”

  His brother blinked. “Wait, you fell in love with a Highlord that fast, and she was receptive to it?” He frowned thoughtfully. “But of course it makes sense. With Christine’s focus during the experiments, all of you primed as ideal mates, just one whiff of your pheromones is all it would take."

  John suddenly glared. “It wasn’t like that! It wasn’t some cheap, whatever you want to call it, as if she was a cat in heat.”

  Mitch raised his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger, bro.”

  “Who the hell is this Christine, anyway? Wait, she was working on all of us?”

  Mitch nodded. “But she wasn’t one of the clans working on the living weapons. Her interests were primarily fertility and longevity. I don’t know if anyone’s broken it down for you yet, but we can sort of tell when a fellow Highlord, or any Jordian, really, is an ideal mate for us.”

  “What, you mean love at first sight? You really have that here?”

  Mitch grinned. “It’s all about the pheromones, bro. Our minds are powerful in ways Terrans aren’t. We can sense when someone's an ideal biological match, and a good emotional fit, very quickly. And as for trust? The first time you make love to a Highlord with your mental shields down, you'll know almost immediately if she's the one for you." He chuckled ruefully. "Hell, just leaving your mind so vulnerable is a major sign of trust right there. So, if you're telling me you fell for the woman teaching you to defend your mind, and she took a shine to you, someone genetically engineered to give her healthy children when Jordian fertility is at an all-time low… I'm not surprised at all to hear about your mutual attraction, John."

  “Now I feel more like an experiment than ever. Where the hell is free will in all that?”

  His brother smirked. “Free will? You always have that, John. You can walk away any time you want to. That’s between you and your heart. So where is your beau anyway? The way you spoke… it’s like things didn’t work out, after all.”

  John lowered his gaze. “She’s dead.”

  Mitch winced. “Shit, John. I’m sorry.”

  John gazed at his clenched fist. “So am I. At least the fuckers responsible are dead.” Obsidian irises glared into gold. “Very, very dead.”

  Mitch gave a proud nod, clapping John's shoulder. "Glad to hear it, John. No mercy for those who would hurt us or ours. Now, do we have any clan vendettas I should know about?"

  “I think I might have cracked Highlord Rojan’s skull. But Captain… shit, I know the taste of his mind, but not his name. That’s pathetic.”

  “Captain Pilburten. You always did have a crappy Scholarship score, even after the implant.”

  “No shit. Anyway, Pilburten assures me that Rojan’s clan won’t come after us, since I didn’t finish off Rojan, when by rights, I think I could have.”

  Mitch nodded. “I know. The captain had the grace to declare himself witness to a duel that was intended as a massacre. I’ll make sure Rojan’s clan knows to back off unless they want the High Council knowing they broke the Accords.” He flashed a reassuring smile. “John, I just want you to know, I’m damn proud of you.”

  John blinked, strangely touched by the praise but not wanting to show it. “Really?”

  "Hell, yeah! Not only did you manage to survive, and I'm grateful as hell for that, since you're the only John left, but you managed to wrest Claimance of our lands back from that conniving snake before saving all of our asses back there. And damn if it wasn't sweet, seeing that Vader-like asshat of an inquisitor getting sliced neatly in half! Best of all, we're now up a Psiblade and force-shield. Not to mention the Elementium sword and buckler on Rojan himself."

  John felt a cold chill with those words. "Mitch, I've heard about those inquisitors on Readit. If they're as bad as anyone says, then none of us are safe."

  His brother chuckled. “Relax, John. That asshole only had jurisdiction on Earth, not Jordia. He was Caesar's lackey. He has no say in the Jordian High Council. If anything, I think he and Caligula are at odds. It’s only because of the incredible wealth to be found in information processing potential and Terran slaves—I mean adventurers, that has them playing nice, for the moment. But that's just a theory. What’s a fact, however, is that Caesar has absolutely no jurisdiction here. And legally, all they can do is exile us, and we’re both already effectively exiled from Earth.”

  Mitch grinned. “As long as that gate is closed, you and I are safe. And now that our clan’s holdings will soon be declared ours before the most inviolate of witnesses, not even the conniving courts here can dispute our claim!”

  John felt a wince in his gut, catching his brother’s enthusiasm, knowing Mitch wasn’t going to like what John was planning. Not one bit.

  But now was not the time.

  John swallowed, forcing himself to ask the question. “What happened while I was gone?”

  His brothers gaze darkened. “It was bad, John. Real bad. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

  “Mitch...”

  His brother’s powerful hand squeezed his shoulder, intent eyes boring into his own. “Please?”

  John scowled, before jerking a nod. “Fine.” He took a second look at his brother’s plate and mail armaments, quirking a smile. “I see you’re avoiding the ABS plastic Dominion soldiers seem to love around here.”

  His brother frowned. “ABS...oh!” He chuckled. “You mean their reflective polymer. Yeah, it does look and feel a hell of a lot like high-end cosplay gear, doesn’t it? Or the shit we wore when we went LARPing that week before HEMA camp, back God knows when exactly it was.”

  John smirked. “Was it even me that went?”

  Mitch sighed, squeezing John’s shoulder. “We’ve played DnD and how many other games together on and off-line?”

  “Dozens.”

  His brother nodded. “It was all you, John. And every time you went down, we just resurrected you, and save for some memory loss and an experience point penalty, you were my brother, back from the dead, and thank God for that.”

  John frowned. “That’s not really what happened, Mitch.”

  Mitch shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s exactly what happened. Our dad could consider you a fucking experiment we kept modifying and tweaking, but he’s an asshole. To me, you’re my brother, and you were always ‘you,’ no matter what asinine numerical indicator dad put before your name. Capiche?”

  John gazed sadly at his brother, wondering what it was like to care about someone that you knew was going to be cut up, memories extracted, and respawned again and again. And if you d
ared to interfere, it just might be your head in a pain vat, your insane father then in search of a more pliable lab assistant. Mitch had all but admitted he might be a clone himself. Who knew how deep this twisted bullshit went?

  At that moment, something clicked.

  “It was that summer… hell, that year we trained together that we got really tight, wasn’t it, Mitch?”

  Mitch grinned in fond reminiscence. “Yeah, that was a special summer, bro. That’s for sure.”

  John smirked. “Because you could date all sorts of cute Highlady chicks eager to watch the experiment in action, and you didn’t have to worry about me dying once during that year and a half. Because it sure as hell wasn’t just one long, endless summer.”

  His brother chuckled. “We got you skilled with sabers, Carolingian blades, longswords, and that sweet, deadly tungsten blade you used to cut the power cord, and thank Phoebe for that. It was an awesome year, all background bullshit aside, and I know for a fact you enjoyed the extra company every bit as much as I did.”

  John couldn’t help grinning at that. “Yeah, that’s true. And I’m guessing they had fun playing with my mind after that. Though why they were bothering with a clueless kid like me...”

  “They were trying to conceive, obviously.”

  John winced. “Are things really that desperate for Highlords that they’re willing to crossbreed with someone like me?”

  “What, someone whose immune system is so potent they’ve never gotten sick a day in their life? Someone specifically designed to be perceptive, insightful, and most of all, highly fertile? Hell, yes. And don’t worry about your poor memory. The maternal chromosomes will naturally override any less than ideal traits we had to keep in place for the sake of our own experiments, and Christine assured us your offspring would be among the most potent and virile in all of Jordia. Hell, she spent almost as much time tweaking you as she did her own pet projects.”