Lords of the Seventh Swarm, Book 3 of the Golden Queen Series

by David Farland

  Karthenor grinned slyly. "Is the Dronon cause the right cause? Is my cause the right cause? Tell me fully."

  The Guide would not let him lie to so direct a question. "No, it's not. There's nothing wrong with using people, that is the basis of the capitalistic system. Folks hire themselves out like oxen, trading their lives cheap. But I don't believe you use them well, Karthenor. I don't believe you understand how to manipulate others subtly, and I don't think you have to make a person's life miserable, even if you do take him slave. There's no justification for being plain vile."

  Karthenor nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. I tend to be crude in my attempts at manipulation. To expand on your metaphor, I sometimes yoke racing stallions to the plow.

  "And it may just be," Karthenor said, "I'm not as idealistic as I like to pretend. To be blunt, it amuses me to use people. I like the thrill, the power."

  Karthenor looked at his men to see their reactions. Neither seemed surprised. Karthenor continued, "If I did not like your singing voice, Thomas, I'd dispose of you. But ... in my mercy, I spare you. This also makes me feel powerful. Maybe that's all I'm really about--power.

  "Those with the least power tend to crave it most. Perhaps when you have been a slave long enough, you too will crave power. You might yet become Dronon.

  "But I suspect it will take time. A very long time...:"

  Karthenor's words dashed Thomas's hopes for a quick release. Shortly after, they departed the shepherd's shack, the toddler riding the front of an airbike, tucked under Karthenor's arm.

  By midday they reached a gate, left Tremonthin for a heavily populated world with high technology. There, Karthenor abandoned the toddler, leaving him on a deserted road at the edge of a city.

  In rapid succession they drove through several gates, till they reached a gray alien planet with tortured, pitted plains. Strange animals seemed almost to agonize under a dim red sun.

  Karthenor stopped to make a radio transmission, then waited. By evening, a huge walking vehicle approached, a black city that stalked across the ruined land like a giant tick, the metal of its legs crashing and grinding as if each step were agony. At its front, three red lights blazed like fire, showing Thomas his first Dronon--creatures that in the distance he thought looked like giant flying ants. They manned the city's gun emplacements.

  The Dronon city marched to them, halted. Karthenor and his men ascended, climbing handholds along one huge leg.

  Thomas had never thought himself afraid of heights, but when he'd reached sixty meters in the air, he looked below at the rocky plain, gray in the twilight, and his hands began shaking.

  "Do not be afraid," Karthenor ordered from below. Thomas's Guide stilled his shaking hands; he climbed with confidence.

  The dark interior of the hive city smelled acrid, a biting scent that burned Thomas's sinuses. White powder dusted the metal floors. Karthenor warned Thomas to avoid the dust. He bid Thomas follow through dark halls, dimly lit with red globes, passing Dronon sentries who lined the tunnels, sometimes clinging with all six limbs to a ceiling so they hung like gaudy fixtures.

  Deeper within, the air became hotter, stifling. Bangs and groans issued from deep recesses of the hive. As the city turned and walked, the floor pitched like a ship at sea. The jostling did not bother the Dronon, who scurried about on six legs, but it was hell for a human to walk in here. Sometimes the group would stop, then climb rungs on the wall to reach a higher level. Thomas studied everything--the black-carapaced warriors so large and cruel; the elegant, almost gaunt, scholars with their tan bodies and green facial markings. Small white workers rushed everywhere, like immature roaches, prodding and carrying items.

  As for the machinery--the alien angles to the tubing, the strange faceted lights--for Thomas it provided only a bizarre and incomprehensible backdrop to the Dronon activities. He was, after all, nothing but an old man from a world where his people shunned anything more complex than a rake.

  At last Karthenor reached a great room with a gently curving floor, where a bloated Dronon queen sat, gorging herself on huge chunks of meat. Small workers frantically scurried about, attending her needs. The queen Dronon had ruddy golden-colored chitin, with faint bronze tints beneath her legs.

  When Karthenor reached this chamber, he and his men each fell to one knee, bowed their heads, and held their arms forward, palms raised above the floor. Karthenor said, "I have come, My Queen, as you bid."

  The queen spoke, her mouthfingers tapping her voicedrum. A translator pinned to Karthenor's lapel spoke. "You are just in time. The great work is accomplished. A few hours past, an ansible transmission pinpointed the location of the human's Golden Queen in a far galaxy. We will fly to her. The Tharrin will not have time to warn her. She will not escape."

  "Excellent,” Karthenor said. "It will be an honor to accompany you, as it is an honor to serve you."

  The Dronon queen dismissed him. Thomas followed Karthenor and his men to a small chamber within the city.

  In a dim room, several levels down from the queen's chamber, Karthenor and his men rested. Fresh air blew into this room through open vents, and the Dronon had placed six cots in three tiers along the walls. Nothing about the room seemed quite right. The Dronon had made the beds too long and too narrow, as if expecting men who were nine feet tall and thin as rails. Some beds were on the floor, others smashed right up against the ceiling. These Dronon, Thomas felt sure, had never seen a human.

  Once in the room, Karthenor unpacked a bit of food for his men and gave Thomas a bar of some kind of grain with fruit and nuts mixed in. Karthenor was an odd man. Sometimes he'd forget to feed Thomas all day. Other times he overfed him. Whatever his mood called for. Thomas felt grateful to eat.

  Karthenor said, "I have good news for you, news I dared not speak until now--not on any human world.

  "You've traveled through the world gates, Thomas, something almost no one ever does. The Tharrin jealously guard gate technology, fearing the gates could be ill-used. But when the Dronon got control of the Tharrin's Omni-mind, they pried some secrets from it, and learned that gate technology is far more powerful than the Tharrin ever let on.

  "As you've seen them, the gates lead from world to world, each taking you to only one destination. But there is no reason a gate cannot be programmed to take you to any destination you desire. Nor is there any reason a gate cannot be built large enough to send a ship across space.

  "Of course the Tharrin would never use them this way. They wouldn't like the idea of warships winking across the galaxy in the time it takes you to drink a shot of whiskey. It would make mankind too powerful, lead to easy confrontations.

  "Fortunately, the Dronon don't have the Tharrin's compunctions against the use of gate technology.

  "The Lords of the Seventh Swarm have built a gate that leads to all worlds, and they've built it large. Large enough for warships to fly through.

  "Tonight, we fly through it, and you will see your niece for the last time. Tomorrow, the galaxy will be ours."

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Zeus woke, Hera had already left the room. Her side of their huge bed was empty. Zeus sprawled on his back, naked, luxuriating in the extra space. Hera is a clinging vine, he thought. She clung to him in her sleep, chasing him across the sheets all night in an effort to cuddle. She clung to him around other women. It annoyed him when she stepped between him and Maggie, just when Maggie felt ready to succumb to his persuasions.

  Zeus did not eat when he rose. His stomach seldom woke before midday. He got up, decided to stroll around the palace naked. He'd enjoyed the sensation of the morning air on his skin yesterday, had reveled in his newfound freedom. Today he would celebrate Felph's absence by going out naked for the whole day, if the mood took him.

  He went first to the garden where he'd rendezvoused with Maggie. If the wench had enjoyed his presence last night, he hoped she would come this morning. Besides, she'd left her shoes by the fountain. Perhaps she'd return for them. She might even
use them as an excuse in her own mind to justify a walk in the garden, hoping for his return.

  Zeus reached the north halls, found the sun high. He usually woke near dawn, but it must be nearly nine o'clock. No wonder Hera had slunk off before he awoke.

  Zeus whistled as. he made his way between the rose hedges, hoping it might attract Maggie, if she couldn't see him.

  When he reached the peacock fountain, resplendent in the morning sun, he found Herm sitting on the stone bench, tinkering with a gun, cleaning it.

  Herm looked up at" him, saw he was naked. "My, you look elegant this morning."

  "I just couldn't find a thing to wear," Zeus laughed, walking up to the fountain. The nereid viviform swam about, just under the clear waters, rolling to her back, then to her stomach. Her generous breasts were so inviting, Zeus found it bothersome. Unfortunately, her maker had not given her all the female parts Zeus would have wished.

  Zeus looked in the grass for Maggie's shoes. They were gone, along with the dishes from last night.

  "Too bad you slept late," Herm said. "The object of your desires came by earlier and retrieved her footwear. You must have made a great impression on her. I suspect that if she saw you now," Herm looked pointedly at Zeus's crotch and his green eyes flashed, "she wouldn't be merely impressed, she'd be astonished."

  "Ah, I've nothing she hasn't seen," Zeus chuckled.

  "Really?" Herm said, raising a brow: "I thought Hera caught you last night before you began waving it around."

  "Nice timing, that," Zeus said, unable to hide his annoyance. "Did you spy for her? Did you fly about, keeping watch?"

  Herm grinned. "And interfere in your affairs? No."

  Zeus eyed Herm, growing angry with the winged man. Herm affected his slightly superior smile, and his lidded eyes concealed more than they revealed. Certainly Herm hid something.

  "I think you're lying," Zeus said. "You're plotting against me. I could kill you for that." Zeus raised his right hand threateningly, palm out. He stood but ten feet from Herm, a bit far to throw an electric shock, took a step closer.

  Herm stiffened in fear, watched the hand. He held his gun loosely, dared not move.

  "I'm sorry you think so ill of me," Herm said, "me, your oldest and dearest ally. Why would you believe I'm against you?"

  "I can tell, you're hiding something!"

  "Dear brother, Herm whispered, his voice smooth and oily, "what has got into you? You threaten me? How many times have I acted as your messenger when you wanted to make a tryst? How many times have I lied to Hera on your behalf? Do you believe I'd side with her now?"

  Zeus held his arm steady, studying Herm's eyes, waiting for him to say more.

  "If you want to know," Herm said at last, "I spent the evening abed, recuperating from this rather severe wound gotten, I might add, in your service." He held up his arm, displaying the bandage, reminding Zeus of the skog he'd killed, part of which Zeus had fed to Maggie last night on his amorous escapade.

  "You're still hiding something." Zeus could seldom read Herm's face, yet the winged man frequently held secrets.

  "A surprise," Herm said. "I haven't told you everything about this morning: I got up early, to hunt skogs," he held up his pistol, "and I spotted Maggie here in the fountain, as naked as you are now! She said she'd come to retrieve her shoes, but I think she came for more."

  Zeus wanted to leap for joy, but still didn't trust Herm. "You're just saying that."

  Herm grinned at his expression. "I assure you, it's true."

  "Odd," Zeus considered. "She seemed tame last night."

  "Perhaps she needed to warm to the idea," Herm said. "But she's interested in you, now. She asked me to bear a message."

  “Which is?"

  "She says she has work to do today, preparing for Felph's return. But she wants to meet you tonight, here. She said she will be naked, and wants to see you similarly attired!"

  "Hah!" Zeus laughed, unsure whether to believe such good fortune. It seemed too much, yet Herm had borne similar messages for Zeus to women here on Ruin. Never had he lied before. He would not do so now. "Hah! A wild one, eh?"

  "It seems so. Will you do it?" Herm smiled.

  "Meet her here, naked? I ... I don't know. Have you told anyone else--Hera?"

  Herm shook his head. "Only you. Maggie left not half an hour before you got here. She asked me to stay."

  "So no one else knows of this?"

  "No one," Herm said.

  Zeus decided to trust the winged man. "Tell no one. In fact: tell Hera you spoke to me and you discovered I have a tryst with Maggie tonight--in her rooms. That should drive her mad, trying to discover how to interrupt us in the lady's private chamber."

  Herm smiled wickedly at the ruse. "Very good, my brother."

  Chapter Twenty

  When Maggie woke shortly after dawn, she lay abed for a long time, missing Gallen, staring at the spirit mask he'd left propped in a corner.

  Such an odd thing, with its vacant eyeholes, watching her: the surface of the mask seemed to be of leather, lacquered and painted. A base of dark browns and blacks lay under silver, filigreed in fascinating curlicues. Tiny pictographs were filigreed above the silver lines. Over all this lay splotches of dark blue and purple paint, weaving about in confusing jumbles.

  Other bits of silver had been engraved into "teeth" on the mask, where it fit over a Qualeewooh's own teeth, lending them strength. These little metal teeth were carefully notched, forming serrated edges, and were then filed to incredible sharpness. Maggie thought the teeth cruel, frightening.

  On inspecting the mask, Maggie could not decide what color she thought it to be--blue, purple, silver. The odd mix of colors made it so that the hues seemed to meld and flow, rivers of color, blending together. The mask seemed alive with movement.

  As she stared at the mask, perhaps she slept. Perhaps it was only the gradual sinking of her tired eyes, but suddenly she thought the mask did move, that it wrenched aside. She imagined dark eyes, staring from the holes.

  Maggie found herself suddenly alert, heart pumping madly, terrified of the mask. This is silly, she told herself. I shouldn't be lying here, frightened of some piece of leather. But it was more than leather. It was a receiver. Gallen had put it on, seen ... something.

  I should investigate, Maggie thought. What kind of technologist would I be, if I didn't investigate?

  Strengthening her resolve, she grabbed her mantle from beside the bed, put it on, then grabbed the mask, examined it.

  The sensors on her mantle could detect no emanations of heat or light coming from the mask. Maggie studied it under magnification. She could. discern wood and pulp mixed into a heavy black resin. The base of the mask was leather, with tiny dimples in it, the remains of small feathers.

  With a jarring sense of revulsion, Maggie realized the leather was not just a piece of some dead animal-the leather was Qualeewooh skin. This poor bird's face had been plucked, then the mask painted on in the form of a black resin. Once the mask hardened, the silver had been inlaid over the resin, and the whole thing painted again. Maggie detected no electronic components, no nanoware. She had her mantle test the air around the mask, listening for electronic signals on every frequency. She picked up radio traffic from AIs sending bursts of binary language, music and holovision signals from Devil's Bunghole. She listened desperately for some message from Gallen, though she knew he was far to the north, out of her range.

  Nothing more.

  Maggie picked up the mask, looked inside.

  Skin. Nothing in the mask but dried skin that smelled faintly oily. Maggie held her breath, put on the mask.

  Think nothing, expect nothing, she told herself, clearing her mind. She didn't want to imagine she'd received a message. She inspected the mask's interior, saw the wrinkled gray leather within the mask, smelled its oily scent, like the dried skin of a snake. Nothing should happen, she thought. This isn't real technology.

  Yet as she drew the mask on, time seemed to
slow. The act of pulling it over her face seemed almost impossible, as if she moved through honey. She could breathe easily enough, found her heart beating at the same pace. Her muscles moved normally.

  But her thought quickened. That seemed the answer. Her mind seemed to race far faster than it ever had before, as if she suddenly had all the time in the universe to ponder.

  The mask felt too narrow to fit her face--but the leather stretched wide enough when she pushed. She heard an odd buzzing, or, more precisely, she imagined she felt movement in her head, felt motors turning or gears tumbling through the slow muck of her consciousness.

  She sat on the bed, gazing through the mask's eyeholes, which were not quite aligned for human eyes. She could not see things just in front of her.

  Her heart pounded. I shouldn't do this, she thought. I shouldn't wear this. It's too much like the Inhuman. I'm leaving myself open to alien ideas. Felph had said this was dangerous, wearing a mask too much drove one mad.

  Yet she wore it now precisely because she had been invaded by the Inhuman. She'd lived over a hundred lifetimes in different bodies, none quite human. She did not fear the spirit mask.

  She sat for a long moment. Nothing seemed to happen. She looked about the room, thinking, This is a waste.

  She closed her eyes, wondered if she should take off the mask. Something drove her to leave it on one moment longer. The buzzing in her head grew louder, louder, insistent.

  And the room disappeared.

  Maggie looked about, found she wore no mask. She stood on a distant world where there was no sun, moon, or stars. Only a midnight sky without an apparent source of light. Yet Maggie could see. The ground beneath her provided light, like a pane of clouded glass. Pure white light welled from deep in the ground. The land around her was perfectly flat. No mountains or hills marred the skyline, no crevices. The ground felt too hard to hold so much as a footprint.