David Farland - The Golden Queen

Gallen considered. “You said that the vanquishers can kill from a distance, and they carried rods like the one you have. Is this the weapon they use?”

“It’s called an incendiary rifle,” Veriasse said. “When you discharge the weapon, it fires chemicals that burn very hot.”

“So it’s something like a flaming arrow?” Gallen asked.

“Yes, only far hotter. Where we come from, some creatures can only be killed with such a weapon. It has become our weapon of choice.”

“How does it work?” Gallen asked. Everynne was surprised at how casually he asked it. She imagined that the young man, being a Backward from such a low-tech world, would find such weapons to be somehow shocking. But Gallen asked in a brusque, businesslike manner.

Veriasse held the weapon up for Gallen to examine. “Down here under the guard is a trigger. When I pull it once, the weapon becomes active and a red beam of light shoots from this lens above the barrel.” He pointed the rifle at a stone, and the red dot of a laser shone on the rock. “You will also feel a vibration in the weapon when it’s active. Whatever the red dot shines on, that is what you will hit if you pull the trigger a second time.”

Veriasse flipped the weapon on its side, pointed to a little indicator light. “These lights show how many more shots you can take with the weapon.” His indicator showed ten shots.

“How far can it shoot?” Gallen asked.

“Officially, it can fire about a hundred and fifty yards,” Veriasse answered. “But the flames can carry farther if you aim high. You must never fire at an opponent who is too close-unless you want to burn with him. Once the weapon sits without firing for three minutes, it deactivates.”

Gallen touched the rifle’s stock. “This can kill an ogre?”

“Yes,” Veriasse said.

“How tough are they?” Gallen asked.

“There are three main types of vanquisher,” Veriasse answered. “Orick here killed a tracker last night-a creature with long legs and arms that walks on all fours. The ‘ogre’ that you saw is one of their infantry. They are tough warriors, and I would not advise you to fight them in hand-to-hand combat. They are very strong. Still, their vital organs are much the same as ours.

“In days gone by, my people created these creatures as guardians, to keep the peace on many worlds. But things have changed. The dronon warriors conquered our people and enslaved our guardians. The dronon are the third kind of vanquisher, and the most dangerous.”

“Dronon?” Maggie asked, panting. Her face was pale, frightened.

“You saw one back in town,” Veriasse said. “You called him Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies. He is really a dronon, a Lord Vanquisher from another world. Sixty years ago, his people came among us, and they were wise in the ways of war. At first, we tried to help them. But they envied our technology and sought to take it. They captured many worlds. Now, any guardians who were not slain all serve the dronon vanquishers. On some worlds, even humans serve the dronon’s Golden Queen and her empire.”

Gallen stood up, seeming to have caught his wind. “We’ll need to keep to the trees so that they can’t shoot us, and I’ll lead them on some trails that will be hard to follow. If we can shake them off our track, we won’t have to rush to the gate.”

Gallen took off running. He set a path that the vanquishers would be hard-pressed to follow. He zigzagged between growths of jack pine, where the trees grew so close together that their branches formed a nearly impenetrable wall. Twice he made great circles so that his scent would be strong, then led the others over dry logs where no footprints would show, where even their scent would not hold.

When he had done all he could to obscure his trail, Gallen led them to a cave at the base of a mountain. He took the group to the largest opening, then at the black mouth of the cave he hesitated to enter.

“What’s wrong?” Everynne asked.

“This cave,” Gallen said, “has narrow passages and five openings. If we want to lose the vanquishers, we could go in here. But the cave is haunted by wights. We’ll need to light a fire and take torches in to hold them at bay.”

“We shouldn’t go in,” Maggie said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Wights?” Veriasse asked. “What is a wight?”

“A spirit. If someone is too curious and breaks the laws of the Tome, the priests give the person to the wights.”

“Surely you don’t believe in ghosts?” Veriasse said. “There’s no such thing. Have you ever seen such a thing?”

“Not ghosts,” Gallen said. “These are wights. I’ve seen them more than once: there was an old woman in our town, Cally O’Brien, who experimented with herbs. One night the wights came and dragged her off screaming, down the road to An Cochan. No one ever saw her again.”

Neither Veriasse nor Everynne looked as if they believed Gallen. “What he says is true,” Maggie offered. “Wights are real. At night you can see their soulfires glowing blue and green in the forest.”

Everynne and Veriasse looked at each other and spoke simultaneously, “Artefs!”

But Veriasse asked, incredulous, “What would an artef be doing here?”

“Guarding this world,” Everynne said. “Keeping its people in enforced ignorance. That is what their ancestors wanted, a world where their children could hide from the problems of a universe too large to control. I’ll bet the original settlers downloaded their intelligences into artefs.”

“So you’re knowing the wights by another name, are you?” Orick asked. “You have them in the realm of the sidhe?”

“Yes,” Everynne said. “We make them in the realm of the sidhe. They are simply machines that store human thought. We can travel through your cave safely.”

“I’m warning you-the sunlight does not penetrate these caverns,” Gallen said. “Inside, it is as dark as night.”

“Sunlight weakens artefs,” Veriasse said, “because the radio waves cast by your sun confuse them, leave them unable to think. But an artef can’t withstand an incendiary rifle.”

Gallen gulped, obviously still afraid. He led them in through a narrow chasm. He took Everynne’s slim hand and pulled her through the dark. She could feel him trembling. She did not know if he feared this place still, or if he simply trembled at her touch. Often, men reacted that way to her. It was a mistake to let him touch her.

Gallen felt his way along a wall until he bumped his head on a rock outcropping, then took a side tunnel. After several hundred feet, he reached a narrow passage, then took another left where the cavern branched; they began climbing a steep slope filled with rubble. Dripping water smacked loud as it dropped to unseen puddles. Everynne struggled to keep from slipping on wet rock. The air had a faintly metallic smell, and Everynne hurried to get out. In the distance, she thought she saw sunlight shining through an exit, but instead a ghostly green apparition began leaping toward them through a large chamber.

It was an old man with muttonchop sideburns and a bushy mustache. He wore a leine without a greatcloak, and short boots. The wight stood quietly, gazing at them in the dark. Its phosphorescent skin let Everynne see the walls of the cave immediately around them, and she was surprised at the jumbles of stone, the numerous stalactites and stalagmites.

The wight asked cordially, “What are you doing in my cave? Don’t you know that this forest is haunted?”

“Off with you!” Gallen said. “I’ll not have you barring our way!”

“Och, why it’s Gallen O’Day,” the wight said merrily. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you in these woods.” But the wight studied Everynne, looking at the silver net she wore in her hair. It made a tsking noise and shook its head. “You’re in a tight spot, Gallen-consorting with strangers from another world. Didn’t your mother ever warn you against such things? Didn’t she ever tell you what happens to curious boys?”