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

by David Farland

Maggie felt so fascinated by this, she knelt, gazed deep into the heart of the earth, struggling to see the source of light.

  Her breath fogged the glassy surface, and she rubbed her arm over the condensation, wiping it away. She held her breath, staring deep into the ground, watching.

  There, below the glass, she saw movement--small figures walking. She recognized herself, standing in a green field. Gallen held her, dressed all in the black of a Lord Protector, clinging to her for support, as if terribly ill. Both of them gazed up at the horizon expectantly, nervously, and something dark wriggled there, something black and horrible.

  Suddenly a Dronon Vanquisher hurtled toward them. Its wings rumbled, and it held its battle arms high for attack. It felled Gallen in one deadly stroke, then hurtled past. Maggie shrieked and leapt, fearing the Vanquisher would burst from the earth.

  Yet nothing came for her. Maggie stood on the plain of glass, backing from that horrible spot in the ground. Certainty filled her: it is coming. It is coming for me. Terror filled her.

  She gazed into the ground, hoping to see more. Around her, light shifted from white to various colors. It was as if bubbles began rising from the ground, bubbles of color that burst against the air, then dissipated. Within each bubble she saw-a scene, so that no scene remained for more than a split second-she saw herself as a child, her mother comforting her after a fall; in another place, she sat outside the circle of fire at Mahoney's Inn while old John Mahoney himself led the local fishermen in a rousing song; in another scene, she piled dung in a rich man's garden back in Clere, while Father Heany stood on, watching; in another she was an infant, and her father tossed her in the air.

  It was as if moments of her life were surfacing, moments she'd forgotten, moments half-remembered, moments she had not yet seen-all foaming over, here for her to see.

  In one bubble, she and Gallen lay dead while a Dronon Vanquisher tore at their corpses.

  "Save me! Why doesn't someone save me?" Maggie shouted, her heart drumming. She knew this was no vain threat.

  Then Maggie heard a dim whispering voice, "We are here."

  As if on its own volition, her chin tilted up, and she saw a light, a green flame, hurtling through the midnight skies like a comet.

  As it neared, the flame enlarged, till for a moment she thought she saw an X in the sky. As it drew close, she saw it was a bird, a great bird of light, flying on wings of green fire.

  "I hear you," a voice whispered. "I come."

  The bird of light was upon her, so close she could touch it. The Qualeewooh was a creature of flame, the darkest emerald. It wore a spirit mask, and Maggie recognized the whorls and pictographs engraved there.

  A bird six thousand years dead. On the horizon behind it, flocks of Qualeewoohs, dazzling like stars, rushed toward her.

  Maggie shoved the mask from her face so hard it clattered to the floor, and she leapt up on the bed, suddenly afraid the bird of her vision would come for her.

  She stood a long ten minutes, scared witless. Everything she'd seen was clearly impossible. Yet she had felt the coolness of the smooth earth, had seen the lights and heard voices. She could no more deny it than deny her own existence.

  It seemed impossible.

  Magic. The Qualeewoohs' technology was so different from man's, she'd have thought it magic. Yet Maggie knew she'd seen the owner of that mask. He lived, beyond human understanding, in a place where past and present fused with future. And he is coming. He--she felt certain this Qualeewooh was male--had promised to come, and others were coming with it.

  Maggie stood on the bed, trembling so badly she finally let herself collapse, fall to the bed, and curl in a ball to think.

  She wasn't certain. She wasn't certain what she'd heard and seen. It all seemed too incredible, so far outside her experience she could not put faith in it. She realized she had not physically "spoken" to anyone in the vision. Her mouth had not moved, her tongue had not formed words.

  Her plea for help had been the cry of her soul, of something so deep within her, her bones would have screamed though her mouth was struck silent.

  And the bird of light had not spoken. It had not said, "I come." it had said both less and more, speaking mind to mind. It had said, "I come. We come. It comes."

  What did that mean? We come to save you? The future comes? Was the creature counseling her to prepare for the inevitable?

  All of this seemed right, she decided. And more.

  Everything inside her cried out to put the mask back on, to commune with this creature till she gained complete understanding. But she recalled Felph's warnings. Those who wore the masks too much faced madness.

  She'd met one of those unfortunate souls at Felph's party. Not only had he gained no understanding from the masks, he'd lost touch with reality.

  So Maggie curled in a ball for two long hours till she calmed. I can't let this mask control me, she decided. I can't let it influence me. If the vision of the Vanquisher I saw lies in my future, who knows when it will come? I cannot spend my life running from it. And perhaps it means nothing. Perhaps it is but one possible future.

  Once Maggie got up, she decided to throw herself into work, take her mind off the mask and its strange message. She spent the morning working in Felph's technological wing. The events of last night had unnerved her--the way Zeus had groped her, the way she'd found herself considering the extremes she might have to go to in order to free Felph's children. She'd even fantasized about killing Felph, and that notion seemed so ... irrational.

  This morning she needed to get away from Zeus, think about this in the clear light of day. She entered the palace's technological wing under the guise of planning to download some of the memory crystals from her mantle into Felph’s system, but she stayed long after she finished, studying Felph's files. His security systems were hopelessly inadequate to keep her off his terminals.

  The information she found disturbed her. Security in the palace was nonexistent. Last night Zeus talked longingly of his hope for escape. Before studying the files, Maggie had imagined that Felph must have killer droids circling the palace. Though Felph did have four security droids posted outside, he hadn't programmed them to keep his children in, nor to keep strangers off the grounds. They only destroyed stray predators.

  On reflection, Maggie saw that Felph didn't need any high-security measures. His primary defense was simpler than killer droids: it was the vast seething desert, separating his oasis from any tangle within three hundred kilometers.

  So Zeus's fears seemed unwarranted. Leaving the palace would be as simple as flying out. Felph’s droids cared for dozens of florafeems; they would accept any human request for use of the beasts. A quick check of the beast handlers' memory showed that Zeus himself often took the florafeems to visit Devil's Bunghole.

  Maggie thought, But Zeus intimated to me last night that he'd never left the palace, that Lord Felph held him prisoner. Maggie retrieved video images the droids had filed of Zeus's most recent trips. Maggie confirmed that the young man had been lying.

  What she found left Maggie heartsick. She'd suspected that Felph was some kind of monster. Now she realized he was nothing more than an old man, an errant old man who had long ago fled society, and yet had not given up on mankind. She'd judged him harshly, more harshly than one person should ever judge another.

  Yet Zeus had lied to her. Maggie recalled being the victim of hundreds of seduction attempts in past lives--many of which failed, some of which succeeded. Just as often, she'd made such attempts. But never had she run across someone like Zeus--handsome, clever, manipulative, rife with pheromones, and apparently lacking any moral compunctions whatsoever.

  Zeus was dangerous. So dangerous, Felph had felt compelled to destroy his clones in order to keep the young man in line.

  Yet Maggie had fallen for Zeus's smooth talk. He'd seemed so sincere. The thought made her boil.

  Maggie wondered: she knew that a Guide could send audial or visual hallucinations. Perhaps Zeus's
Guide had done this to him. Perhaps he hadn't known the truth about the lack of palace security--as difficult as Maggie found this notion to credit. Perhaps his memories had even been edited, so that he didn't remember his trips outside the palace.

  She checked other records, questioned Felph's Al about the programming of Zeus's Guide. Zeus had. complained he'd been held captive, made a slave, but the programming she found told a different story: Felph had programmed the Guide to forbid Zeus from murder. Beyond that, it kept Zeus from endangering himself, from lying when confronted by Lord Felph, and from rape.

  That was it. Zeus had been free to leave the palace any time. He'd done so, often.

  So Maggie studied much of the day, seething. Zeus had been playing games with her. From the moment she'd met Felph, she'd campaigned for him to free his children. Zeus knew how important she held her freedom.

  So last night, she realized, as he spoke to me, it was not escape he wanted, it was a liaison. She remembered how he'd fondled her, how he'd pressed his kisses upon her. Love me, free me, he'd pled. And I was fool enough to take him seriously.

  In the early afternoon, Maggie felt tired, so she returned to her room to nap. The child in her womb seemed to be of a different mind. He did not kick so much as merely stretch, pressing his feet against her ribs, turning somersaults till she imagined he'd go mad from dizziness. Such internal gymnastics did not allow for decent sleep.

  So Maggie was not in a good mood when her door chimes announced a visitor.

  She opened the door. Zeus stood, one elbow casually resting against the doorframe. He wore an elegant silvergray dinner jacket over midnight blue pants, and he carried a yellow rose in his teeth. As mad as she'd been all afternoon, Maggie looked into his smoldering dark eyes and foun--she wanted to laugh in his face.

  She could not look in those eyes and see a hint of deception, only of passion. She restrained herself from laughing, and only smiled.

  "For you," Zeus said between clenched teeth. He leaned at the waist till he planted a kiss on her lips. Opening his own lips, he nudged the rose into her mouth.

  He knows how his kiss affects me, she realized. Maggie grinned, holding the rose in her mouth, thinking, I'll get even with you, you ass.

  "Did you miss me?" he asked.

  Maggie decided to play his game. "I planned to ask you that question myself."

  "Does the hummingbird miss its morning nectar?" Zeus asked. "Would the moon miss the sun if it refused to shine? No less than I missed you."

  "You're so sweet," Maggie said. "Where did you ever learn to say such sweet things?"

  "You inspire me. l find myself rising to the occasion."

  Maggie smiled thoughtfully. Zeus stood close to the door, as if begging entrance, but she didn't want to let him in.

  Maggie hadn't seen the genetic records yet, but she suspected Felph had twisted his son's genome. Felph was rich enough to create any kind of child he wanted: why a sociopath like Zeus? Felph said he wanted leaders, people strong enough to defeat the Dronon. But what kind of man would that take?

  In that moment, it came clear to her: a violent man, a man who abhorred authority and would rebel against any who sought to rule him. A controller who desperately needed to be in charge. A passionate man, one who craved to create, to leave a legacy. At the insight, Maggie drew a breath in surprise.

  "Ah," Zeus said, "I take your breath away!"

  "I suspect you have that effect on all the women." Maggie sought to recover.

  "I wouldn't know. Outside my sisters, you're the only one I've ever met."

  "I find that hard to believe," Maggie said. `'You handle yourself so well."

  Zeus hesitated slightly, wondering at hidden meanings. "I understand you had a long talk with Herm this morning?"

  Maggie didn't know what he was talking about, but if Herm wanted to pretend they'd talked, she decided to play along. "Yes, it was a fascinating conversation."

  "You talked about me?"

  "Nothing could be more fascinating." Maggie laughed.

  Zeus smiled, waiting for her to go on, but Maggie didn't give him the pleasure.

  "So, you will be meeting me tonight, in the garden?"

  No," Maggie said.

  "But, Herm told me you would?" Zeus countered.

  “I… I wanted to," Maggie said, "but I have a lot of work, more than I'd first imagined. I may have to work late."

  "Shame on my father," Zeus said, "working a woman in your condition so. We should punish him." He smiled pleasantly.

  "Seriously," Zeus said, "you must eat, and the garden is pleasant. If my father complains about your lack of performance, I'll assure him you performed quite satisfactorily." At this, he gazed longingly into Maggie's eyes, licked his lips.

  "All right, I'll meet you," Maggie said, wondering what game Herm had been playing at. It seemed everyone here played games. Zeus played Maggie, Herm played Zeus. Where did it end?

  "I admired the dress you wore last night," Zeus whispered passionately.

  "Thank you," Maggie said.

  "Leave it home tonight. Our skin will be warm enough." Zeus leaned forward, kissed her. "Until tonight, then."

  Maggie stood in the doorway, watching him leave, heart pounding. When he'd passed down the hall, she returned to the technical wing, to the computers in Felph's revivification chamber. For three hours she studied Zeus's genome, found it to be all she'd feared. On the Rand scale, his violent tendencies measured a perfect 8.2 on a scale of ten. Any higher, and he'd be a threat to society. Any lower and he wouldn't be capable of the cold-blooded murder required of a dictator.

  His Parcher indicators put him at four thousand in creative impulse--levels one would expect to find in a great composer. But Felph had also raised Zeus's testosterone levels unnaturally high, and had boosted the number of nerve endings in his genitals, accompanied by a hypothalamus design that craved stimulation. Zeus could not help but crave sex, enjoy it more than others.

  Manipulation was Zeus's art. He could play a woman's emotions the way a great violinist played the violin.

  Of course the genetic manipulations went far beyond this-Felph left virtually nothing to chance with Zeus. But the most arcane changes had to do with Zeus's nervous system. There were some distinctly odd modifications, including seven genes on the twelfth chromosome that totaled some fifty-three thousand pairs of amino acids in total length.

  This change in particular baffled her. It suggested Zeus's nervous system had been hijacked to fulfill some secondary purpose, yet the information in Maggie's mantle was insufficient to name that purpose. Could these modifications be nonhuman in origin? she wondered.

  "Affirmative," her mantle whispered.

  "Can you check with Felph's Al and find out what these modifications are for?" she asked her mantle.

  A moment later, the mantle whispered, "The information is classified. Felph's Al cannot release that information. However, by cross-referencing these genes with information found in Felph's library, the genes seem to be a modification of those found in an extinct earth life-form, the electrophorus electricus--a breed of carp which emits a powerful electric shock."

  "Zeus is a chimera?" Maggie wondered. A creature part human, part animal. A dangerous one.

  "Yes," her mantle whispered.

  A loud hissing erupted from the far side of the revivification chamber. A gray polka dot on the wall popped free. For half a second, Maggie wondered if she'd inadvertently tripped a switch that would animate a clone, but realized she had done nothing. A tube slid out, displaying the sleeping form of a man in his twenties, with deep brown hair and a hawkish nose. It took her a moment to recognize Felph, but she could see it in the contours of his face. At each leg, sinuous tubes were inserted into Felph's ankles.

  One pumped blood from some hidden recess in the cryochamber into Felph's body. The other tube drew away a clear liquid, the artificial blood used in cryosleep.

  The lights on the clone's Guide blazed a pure white as the artifici
al intelligence downloaded Felph's memories into the younger body. Maggie's heart began thumping. Felph has died, she realized, and now he is being revived. But what of Gallen?

  Gallen had gone into danger; but he couldn't get hurt, could he? He was the one who slew the Lords of the Swarm. He was the Lord Protector who had brought down the Inhuman on Tremonthin. Yet in her mind, she recalled the sight of Veriasse, his face half-burned away, flailing about wildly as the Dronon Vanquishers sliced him to ribbons. Even Lord Protectors die.

  Gallen believed so much in his own invulnerability that Maggie wanted to believe it, too.

  And this was just the kind of place where Gallen would die, blindly charging into some situation hotter than he was prepared to handle.

  Felph had been killed out in the tangle, fighting who knows what. He'd been with Gallen, and Gallen hadn't been able to protect him.

  Maggie's heart pounded. But if Gallen were dead, it did not matter much. In a few weeks, his clone could be raised, its memories restored. But something important could be lost. Orick and Tallea weren't cloned.

  Don't worry, don't worry, she told herself. Maybe nothing bad happened. Maybe Felph slipped and fell. it could have been as easy as that. But Felph had been a spry codger, Maggie knew. She doubted it would have happened so easily.

  To learn what had happened, all she needed to do was ask the clone. Maggie held her breath as the download continued.

  Gallen wasn't the type to let his charges die. He'd never lost someone entrusted to his care. So he must have fallen into some heavy combat, and hadn't been able to save Felph. That was all Maggie could think. It could take hours for the clone to revive fully. Maggie sent Gallen a message, calling him with her mantle, hoping for the best.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Cooharah and Aaw flapped their wings, struggling desperately in the thin air to climb a ridge of angry red mountains, the evening sun just touching the peaks, painting them shades of crimson and rose.

  "Oasis to the east," Aaw whistled. Cooharah looked down at a cliff beneath him. An ancient diagram painted dark green showed the way,