David Farland - The Golden Queen

Every dronon suddenly fell silent, and from the top of the wall of living bodies, a single dronon vanquisher raised on its back legs, crossed its battle arms overhead and shouted: “You dishonor us! This is no true Golden Queen before us, merely a projection! Are your minds so simple that you think to trick us?” In the darkness, Veriasse could not see if this dronon wore the facial tattoos of a Lord Escort, but the creature spit acid, as if to say, “You are food.” Veriasse guessed that only a Lord Escort would dare offer such an insult.

Obviously, this would not go as smoothly as Veriasse had hoped. His stomach knotted. “This holograph is only a banner that we carry,” Veriasse shouted. “Our Golden Queen stands behind me! She is not a dronon like you, but all among us humans worship her form. She is flawless and worthy of adoration. A Great Queen comes among you! Prostrate yourselves in adoration, or prepare to do battle!” Veriasse threw his arms out forward in a battle pose and spit on the ground.

The dronon cringed at his insult.

Silently, Veriasse looked backward at Everynne. She held her hands knotted in a fist, and he saw a faint light shining golden between her fingers, showing that she held the Terror in her hand. If these dronon attacked, she would have only a portion of a second to activate the weapon and begin destroying this world. Almost, he hoped that she would activate it now.

The Lord Escort shouted, “I will perform a rite of inspection on this Golden!” Suddenly its wings unfolded and it leapt from the wall, landing within an arm’s length of Everynne. Veriasse could see tattoos on its face-golden waves like rods of lightning striking from each eye. The Lord Escort’s sensor whips waved over Everynne’s head, flashed around her hips. It hesitated a long moment. Veriasse prayed that it would not make her strip, search for flaws.

The Lord Escort pulled at her clothes, but did not remove them. Apparently, it seemed more pleased by the color and texture of the golden material than by Everynne’s pale skin. At last the dronon clicked, “I do not find this one worthy of adoration.”

“She is worthy,” Veriasse said. “She is Golden among mankind, perfect in form, without blemish.”

“She is soft, like a larvae. She is disgusting, unworthy of adoration.”

“All humans are soft,” Veriasse said. “And we find your bodies to be disgusting, unworthy of adoration. Yet we honor your Great Queen despite the differences in our forms. We ask you to do the same. I assure you that you will never see a more perfect human than this Golden Queen, and I challenge you to battle for Right of Charn.”

By battling only for the Right of Charn, Veriasse felt that he was making the decision easier for the creature. If Veriasse should win, there would be a second inspection by and her Lord Escort. In effect, Veriasse was asking for a small thing. The dronon said, “I reject your right to challenge. This is not a Golden.”

“If you reject our right to challenge,” Veriasse said, “then you will dishonor of our kind. If you will not honor our Goldens, then all mankind on all worlds will reject your queen’s right to rule over us. You will start a war unlike any that you have ever known.”

“You threaten us?” the Lord Escort asked. He looked at Everynne, at the Terror glowing in her hands.

“I do not want to be forced into threatening you,” Veriasse said. “But you know what we carry. You’ve chased us across the worlds. If you do not let humans battle for the right of succession, you leave us no alternatives.”

The dronon hesitated. “I speak the truth,” Veriasse said. “Let us battle for the Right of Charn.”

The dronon studied Everynne a moment longer, backed off two steps. “I will go and consult with our queen.” It turned, flew up to the hive city and entered. By now the chemical fires from the incendiary rifles were beginning to die, and in the light thrown from the twisting flames, it almost seemed that the wall of dronon bodies wavered.

Neither Gallen, Orick, nor Maggie moved or spoke, and Veriasse was silently thankful for their good sense. The negotiations were at a critical point. If the queen ruled against them, the dronon would attack in a great wave. If she decided to grant the Right of Charn, Veriasse assumed she would come out with her Lord Escort to do battle.

Ten minutes passed, twelve, and then the Lord Escort flew from the battlements of his hive city, landed on the bodies of his own men.

The Lord Escort raised high on his hind legs, crossed his battle arms over his head. “We have consulted with our Golden. She instructs us to honor you by letting you battle for Right of Charn. I am Dinnid of the Endless Rocks Hive. For ten thousand years we have ruled this plain. Our larvae shall eat your corpses. Our vanquishers shall claim your domain. Your hive shall submit to us!”

As one, a hundred thousand dronon vanquishers raised their battle arms and slammed them together with great clashing sounds.

Veriasse shrugged, tried not to show his concern. Until now, he’d had no idea where on Dronon he might be, but the name of the Endless Rocks Hive was known throughout the worlds of mankind. Dinnid was relatively young and powerful, a son of and her Lord Escort. Rumor named him “The Cunning” for his prowess in battle. It was said that he was the finest strategist among the Lord Escorts, and many claimed that he and his queen would become successors to the current Golden. It was said that Dinnid was only biding his time until his nemesis grew older and more feeble.

Dinnid’s wings flashed, and he darted high into the air, entered the maw of the hive. Ahead of Veriasse, the dronon vanquishers began clacking and mumbling, readjusting their bodies so that an opening appeared in the wall. Veriasse looked back at Everynne, telling her with his eyes to follow. Gallen, Maggie, and Orick followed, too, and they walked through a tunnel formed by the black bodies of dronon warriors.

When they reached the saucer-shaped belly of the hive, the dronon lowered a ladder much like any that a human might use, except that the rungs were spaced inconveniently far apart. Veriasse climbed, noted the thin gray powder of dried dronon stomach acids on the rungs but decided that his gloves would be ample protection. Only poor Orick among the group did not have gloves, and Veriasse hoped that the padding on the bear’s paws would prove adequate insulation.

When they reached the lowest level of the hive city, they came to a security station where strange, gleaming, three-eyed cameras photographed them. Message pods, like tiny balls, whizzed through the air, flying between various levels with a hiss. Small white female dronon workers scurried through the hallways like lice, infecting him with their tremendous energy. They seemed incapable of moving at anything less than breakneck speed.

The group climbed more ladders, and everywhere were tan dronon technicians with green tattoos and long segmented fingers growing from small battle arms. Vanquishers lined the halls. When they reached the mid-level of the hive, Veriasse glanced down one corridor, saw a vast incubation chamber. Thousands of white workers scurried among eggs, adjusting heating devices, catching the grublike newborns as they hatched, regurgitating acidified food into the gullets of grubs.

At last Veriasse climbed to the highest level of the great city, stopped to catch his breath. Dronon vanquishers lined the passage. He stared down the dimly lit hall for a moment, waited for the others to catch up with him. The air here was thick with the acrid scent of dronon, warmed uncomfortably by the heat of hundreds of thousands of bodies. Everynne breathed heavily but tried to stand tall and regal. Orick was panting from the effort of climbing, and Maggie was drenched with sweat when she reached the landing platform. Veriasse let them catch their breaths, then led the way down a long corridor lighted dimly by golden globes.