David Farland - Lords of the Seventh Swarm

The whole purpose of The Game was to entertain. Zeus would prefer to seduce the woman, thus getting the full value from the bet. But if he raped Maggie, he would have to suffer the consequences-death at Gallen’s hands, perhaps; the entertainment value of that spectacle ought to be worth something to Herm.

“One point,” Heim whispered.

Zeus smiled. Not enough to take the lead in The Game. Still, it was a free point, no matter what the outcome of his seduction attempt. Zeus whirled as the droid rolled near.

“Tell Father I won’t go with him. I’m staying home.”

“I do not believe that he requested your, presence. I perceived it as an order, though I may be mistaken in this,” the droid apologized.

“Tell Father I am not his slave anymore,” Zeus bellowed. “I don’t take orders!” He turned his back. The droid simply stood, perplexed. “Wait,” Zeus said. “I know a better way to get the message to him. Come here.”

Zeus walked to the edge of the citadel, till he stood in the crenel, looking down hundreds of meters. The droid rolled to him; Zeus grabbed its metal frame and shoved it over the edge. The droid flipped end over end, bouncing against stone as it dropped; bits of its golden frame broke off. The droid crashed heavily into the canopy of the tangle. Woodland creatures hooted and squawked.

Zeus stared after it. Each droid had an emergency transmitter to notify the palace’s central Al if the droid became incapacitated. The droid would have sent a message telling how it was destroyed. The Al would notify Felph.

Zeus imagined the look on Felph’s face when he learned how he had refused to go on this expedition. If I’d merely said “no,” he thought, Father would have forced the issue.

By destroying the droid, I’ve sent the message forcefully . Felph would be afraid to bring him on the expedition. Better to leave Zeus home. With Maggie.

Herm stood on the lip of the citadel, laughed, and said, “One point if you bed her in three days. Two more if you get her willingly!”

From inside his tunic, he brought out a small vial of blue. glass, held it outward and up, in ritual. He remained very quiet, almost respectful, as he pulled the stopper. The Wind of Dreams.

The scent that issued from the tiny bottle was over whelming. It filled the air, sweet as gardenias, gentle.

Yet immediately, the heady scent took effect: the wine was a concoction made by Hera’s perfumery, a very sophisticated machine. By combining a devil’s brew of proteins that stimulated one’s emotions, then putting it into a scent, the perfumery was able to concoct a most intoxicating brew. The Wind of Dreams made one feel effulgent, euphoric, invulnerable.

It made Zeus feel the way that he imagined he would feel at some distant time, when he took his rightful place as Lord of the Universe. Zeus inhaled deeply. The scent had a singular, unusual effect on him. It made his organ hard. He stared at it through veiled eyes. Ah how he craved this little bottle. As one who has lived his life in servitude, as one born to crave power, yet who had always been denied the most basic rights, Zeus craved it more than he could speak. The scent brought water to his eyes.

Herm held up the Wind of Dreams. As the current high scorer in the Great and Dreadful Game, it was Herm’s right to keep the bottle. Herm chanted, “Through darkest deeds this prize is won by murder, theft, and dreams undone. “

Zeus intoned his portion of the chant. “If l succeed, I’ll hold the Wind: Let the Great and Dreadful Game begin!”

A cold gust blew over the tower, filling the air with the bottle’s marvelous scent. For once Zeus felt that the draft refreshed rather than chilled him.

Hem put the stopper back on the bottle. He broke into a deep, booming laugh.

“You feel all right about this?” Gallen asked Maggie that morning. “You don’t mind if I leave for a couple days?”

Maggie lay in bed beside him, her dark red hair in her eyes. She shook her head. “Just get your cloning done before you leave.”

Gallen studied her face. Maggie looked pale, though her morning sickness had passed. He did not want to broach this topic, but he had to. “I’m not going for Felph, you know.”

“I know. You want to beat the dronon. So you’re hunting for a magic potion? I have to tell you, Gallen, I wouldn’t hope for too much. I don’t understand how such a potion could do what Felph claims.”

“Why not? We have that vial of Hope we got … where? I don’t even remember the name of the world.”

“Cyanoses, Maggie said. “And it wasn’t a magic potion, just a spray containing the same chemicals that arouse hope in anyone.”

“It felt magic to me, coming as we did from Tihrglas, never having seen such a thing. It felt magic. Who knows what the Qualeewoohs might have done. Try on the spirit mask, if you don’t believe me.”

Maggie glanced to the mask, lying beside the bed, shook her head thoughtfully. “For your sake,” Maggie whispered, “I hope they’ve found magic.”

Gallen took her hand, clung to it. He felt guilty. He whispered, “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.”

Maggie patted her tummy. “I have our son to keep me company. Believe me, if he’d kicked you as much last night as he did me, you’d know you weren’t alone. Besides, you’re the one who needs to run off into the tangle. I’m in no shape to follow. I’m just going to stay here and work on getting fat. for a couple of days. Hera is here, and Arachne. This will give me a chance to get to know them.”

Gallen could not put a name to his concerns. Maggie smiled, then took his left hand, pulled it under the covers, placed it on her womb. Gallen felt her warm belly stretch as his son kicked.

Maggie’s eyes blazed with a light of their own. That is how I want her to be, always , Gallen considered. Shining with joy. He leaned forward, kissed her softly and with passion. Her breath tasted sweet, even this early in the morning. In a few moments she climbed atop him, and they became tangled together for a long hour.

When their passion was spent, Maggie whispered heavily into Gallen’s ear, “Don’t take any chances out there.”

“Ah, you’re a madwoman, Maggie. First you nearly kill me with lovemaking, then you tell me to take care. You’ll make me old before my time.”

“I just wanted to remind you that you have something to live for. I–I don’t want to make love to your clone.”

“Too late, I already am a clone. You’re making love to Belorian.”

Maggie shook her head. “No, he died centuries ago. You’re my Gallen O’Day.”

Gallen kissed her eyelids and said seriously, “I know.”

Moments later, a service droid announced itself at their door, requesting them to follow it to meet Lord Felph. Gallen dressed quickly in the black robes of a Lord Protector, put on his mantle, gathered his weapons, and packed his clothes.

The droid led them deep into the palace, along yellow corridors where holoimages gave radiation warnings. The doors were unmarked, but the droid told them that this was Felph’s technical center, the birthing chambers where he made his children.

At a green door, the droid bid them enter a large darkly lit oval-shaped room perhaps fifty meters in diameter. Storage tubes for clones lined each wall, gray round lids smattering the white room with giant polka dots. In the center, of the room lay a vivification table, a plain white table with various pumps around it that would allow Felph to infuse nutrients into a clone as he downloaded it with memories.

The table’s Al was built into a hood that spanned the ceiling, along with various lights and instruments, so that the Al looked like some menacing giant spider in its vast neural webbing, squatting over them all.