David Farland - The Golden Queen

Some dronon vanquishers raised their battle arms over their heads, crossing them as a sign of respect for Everynne and her retinue, but most of the vanquishers refused that honor.

The air grew hot and fetid as they neared the belly of the city, until at last they came to a wide, circular room two hundred meters across.

Around the room, thousands of dronon lined the walls. Black Lord Vanquishers with their enlarged forelegs and flashing wings seemed to make up the majority of the audience, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Veriasse saw that they were really outnumbered by small whitish workers, plump as lice, who ran about under the feet of the warriors. Dozens of the large tan technicians with their green facial tattoos had also come.

At the far end of the arena, the Lord Escort Dinnid sat beneath the lights beside an enormous young queen. She was a light cream in color, but gold highlights on her upper thighs and battle legs indicated that she would soon develop into a Golden. The queen was perhaps six meters long and three meters tall. Her saucer-shaped egg sac looked as if it were ready to burst, and indeed as he watched, a translucent egg about two decimeters across fell from her sac. A white worker rushed forward and carried it away.

Dinnid raised his battle arms over his head, crossing them as a sign of a temporary truce. Veriasse stopped at his side of the arena and raised his arms in the same token, crossing his wrists.

“You stay here,” he whispered to Everynne and the others, indicating a red box drawn on the floor.

As one, he and Dinnid advanced to the center of the arena.

Veriasse studied the battleground-the light in the room was diffuse and came from yellow globes set in the walls all around the arena. The metal floors seemed to be of heavy steel and were uneven, curving slightly like a bowl until they reached a low point in the center of the room. The ceiling was perhaps fifteen meters high-enough so that if Veriasse were the Lord Escort from another hive, he and Dinnid would be able to fly about the room, engaging in aerial combat. Indeed, it was the preferred method among dronon. The males flew at tremendous speeds, batting one another with their heavy forearms, lashing out with their hind legs, grabbing with their sensor whips. The battles tended to be fast-paced and ended quickly.

As Dinnid marched forward, Veriasse studied him. The big male was perhaps two meters tall as he walked, and he bore scars from a recent fight. His right sensor whip had been ripped off near the mandible and had not yet grown back. The right front array of eyes had been damaged. Of the seven faceted eyes of various sizes, two of the larger ones were broken. An ugly white ooze dripped from one mandible.

Yet the dronon lord had impressive forearms. The serrated edges at the bottom of these arms were exceptionally well developed, so that it looked almost as if he had triangular axe heads emerging from those arms. One blow would crush the exoskeleton of nearly any dronon. To be hit with those arms would mean Veriasse’s death.

Around him, the dronon began to sing a slow dirge, their mouthfingers tapping rhythmically upon their voice drums. Veriasse looked to the far side of the room, saw that beneath the queen, several white things that he had thought to be workers were in actuality larvae-royal grubs with six small legs and poorly developed eyes.

When the two were forty paces apart, Dinnid uncrossed his battle arms, began to wave them threateningly. Veriasse knew that as soon as he uncrossed his own wrists, the battle would begin. The dronon always considered it a good strategy to strike first, and Veriasse suspected that the Lord Escort would leap into the air, try to strike while flying past. Indeed, the dronon’s superior aerial troops had always devastated humans, who relied too heavily on ground-based operations.

Veriasse took a deep breath, uncrossed his arms. Almost before he could see it happen, Dinnid leapt into the air, wings buzzing.

Veriasse dodged right. The Lord Escort twisted his abdomen, tried to kick with a rear leg. Veriasse considered grabbing it, but elected instead to simply avoid this first blow.

Dinnid flew past, circled like a great black fly. It took him several seconds to cross the arena, then return.

Dinnid flew up near the top of the ceiling, then swooped low at the last possible second. Veriasse dodged right again, but the dronon anticipated his move, turned his head, and spat the contents of his stomach into Veriasse’s face. The acid splashed out in a wave, and Veriasse saw that he would not be able to dodge it. He leapt up in frustration, kicked the forward edge of Dinnid’s lower right wing and heard a satisfying crack.

The lord spun, crashing into the metal floor, then rolled upright. He raised his wings and flapped them madly, apparently terrified on some instinctual level at the thought of being grounded. He lifted himself in the air, but moved slower and was forced to flap his wings much harder to fly at all.

Veriasse pulled up his tunic, wiped the acid from his face. The goggles he wore were dirty with the fruits of the vanquisher’s stomach, and Veriasse only managed to smear the glasses. He threw them off in frustration, gambling that Dinnid had emptied his stomach and would not be able to spit any more acid in the course of this battle.

Dinnid circled the vast arena, building up speed, and Veriasse clenched his fists. The metal studs sewn into the fingers of his gloves felt heavy, comforting. He watched the vanquisher circle, saw that Dinnid was breathing hard. His rear thighs flexed and unflexed rapidly, the air holes expanding as he sought to draw air into his lungs.

Suddenly Dinnid swerved and came straight at Veriasse, battle arms thrust dangerously forward, his head tilted back so that his mandibles were extended down and out. It was the perfect posture for a ramming attack.

Veriasse dodged right early, and the dronon veered to intercept, then Veriasse dodged left at the last moment, grabbed for Dinnid’s sensor whip. Dinnid responded by smashing with his left battle arm, but Veriasse was already on the floor, rolling beneath the attack. He felt the cordlike sensor whip in his grasp, tugged it with all his might, hoping to pull it out.

Instead, the dronon flipped onto his back. At that angle of descent, Veriasse’s added weight was too much for the creature.

In that moment, Veriasse leapt and kicked Dinnid’s right front eye cluster with a cracking sound. Veriasse danced backward while the dronon scrambled to his feet.

Veriasse expected Dinnid to retreat, regroup for a moment, but apparently the creature went berserk. It leapt forward, thrashing blindly with its battle arms, trying to chop Veriasse in half. Veriasse staggered back to avoid its blows. Yet the vanquisher kept advancing.

Veriasse dodged right beneath the creature’s blind spot and struck the dronon full force in the right thigh of his rear leg, crushing the lord’s exoskeleton so that bits of carapace fell into its air holes.

Dinnid spun to attack, but Veriasse leapt under his blind spot and smashed the dronon’s left front eye cluster, then staggered back a step.

Orick shouted, “Get him! Kill him!” and Veriasse suddenly became aware of the noise around him. The dronons too were shouting, but he had been so focused during the fight, that he had blocked out all such mundane sounds.

Lord Dinnid was blinded in both front eye clusters. He responded by rushing forward, lashing out with roundhouse swipes of battle-arms. He twisted his head to the left and right, trying to spot Veriasse with his back eyes. After several seconds, he buzzed his wings, flew overhead.

Veriasse’s face burned painfully from the acid. He was sweating heavily, pouring salt into the wounds. He could feel the acid eating into his cheeks and neck like fiery ants.