David Farland - The Golden Queen

After two hours, they swooped low over the omni-mind, and Everynne got her first glimpse of the great machine. It glowed with a soft silver light. Trillions of computer crystals lay upon its surface, reflecting sunlight like a sea of molten glass. Here and there across the planet, vast tachyon communication towers rose above the plains, pointing like metallic daggers to the heavens. Beyond that, there was no hint of the monolithic processors built into the planet’s interior, no sign of its power supplies.

It was beautiful.

The dronon ships flew in a V to a great city, perhaps thirty kilometers across, ringed with light. Everynne watched from the portals. The city was built under large domes, and parts of it were green with grass, blue with pools of water. She could see hills and forests under the glass, and clear streams.

The dronon ships hissed low over the city, taking nearly half an hour to make their slow procession. Everynne gazed down on small estates that had once belonged to her mother’s Tharrin advisors. Hundreds of thousands of people could easily live there.

The dronon went to the interior of the city, circled the largest central dome. There was a small palace beneath it situated in some woods. Nothing exotic or costly, simply a functional building where her mother had sometimes performed her duties.

The dronon fighters circled this building twice, then dove toward a gray docking portal at the dome’s edge and landed so softly in the docking bay that Everynne never felt them touch down. She went to Veriasse, stroked his cheek and whispered, “Come, Father. We’re here.”

Unaccountably, Veriasse had fallen asleep. They had not really rested much in nearly twenty hours, and Everynne herself was exhausted. She felt a bit dizzy, unconnected from her body, but she could never have fallen asleep with the end of the journey so near. She jostled him again, and Veriasse woke, blinking. “Yes, yes. I’m coming.”

She got him up, and he stretched, walked straight and tall through the ship’s exit. Gallen, Maggie, and Orick followed them down a long glass corridor into one of the domed cities.

The dronon waited at the entrance to the dome. A wall of dronon vanquishers had formed under the clear canopy, and it seemed strange to Everynne to see their black carapaces shining in the pristine daylight.

Everynne breathed deep in amazement at their sheer numbers. She estimated that at least forty thousand vanquishers had gathered to meet them. Their acidic stench filled the dome, overwhelming the scent of the green grass that they trampled. In the distance, beyond the woods, she could see the palace, a building of purple-gray stone with ivy trailing up its sides.

Atop the wall of living dronon stood their leader, a Lord Escort with facial tattoos that looked like white worms strung beneath his eyes. Veriasse had talked of him often. Xim.

Xim shouted insults in dronon, and Veriasse gave his ritual hand signals, shouted insults in return and challenged the vanquisher to ritual combat, so that he and Everynne could take their rightful place as Lords of the Swarm.

Whereas earlier she had been terrified, now Everynne felt some sense of calm. She controlled her breathing. Xim called for the Rite of Examination, flew down and stalked around her. Unlike Dinnid, he was thorough. He used his whiplike sensors, grasped her dress and pulled it up to examine her skin. Xim tasted her scent thoroughly and stopped at the back of her neck, his sensor brushing against her small scar.

“What is this strange substance?” the vanquisher asked, rubbing at the body paint.

“It is a perfumed soap that our Golden uses to clean her skin,” Veriasse said evenly. “Do you not like the scent? We find it quite pleasing.”

Xim rubbed at the paint. “What is this mark?” Behind Everynne, she heard Maggie gasp.

“It is the mark of a Tharrin,” Veriasse said reasonably. “A coloration variance similar to that found on our nipples. It is common to some of our Goldens.” Everynne was not surprised that Veriasse had chosen to lie. The burn would heal in a few days, but it would be difficult to explain its presence now.

Xim hesitated, and Everynne imagined that he would kill them now for the attempt at deception.

He raised on his hind legs, crossed his battle arms and shouted, “I am Xim, Lord of the Swarm. Our larvae shall eat your corpses. Our vanquishers shall claim your domain. Your hive shall submit!”

His wings flashed, and he flew high into the air, buzzed around the ceiling. All around them, the dronon vanquishers beat their battle arms together, and their carapaces rustled as they shifted, creating a tunnel of living bodies for Everynne and the others to walk through.

They stepped into the dark cave. The dronon vanquishers had stacked themselves so that they could watch the procession, and myriads of heads swiveled to follow their progress. Sensors writhed overhead like black snakes, and many a battle arm hung overhead threateningly.

They did not have far to go. A field of grass lay a hundred yards beyond, ringed with countless dronon. The Golden Queen stood on the far side, proud and tall, whip sensors waving above the crowd. She wore the mantle of Semarritte on her head, a silver headdress with long flowing rows of medallions. Everynne looked at the mantle, the icon she had sought across light-years. To win it would mean her death. To lose it would mean her death.

Royal larvae huddled under Tlitkani’s legs. Xim circled her in the air, then landed in front of her protectively, raised his battle arms high and crossed them. He shouted, “Veriasse, Lord Escort of the Golden Everynne. I have watched your battle with Dinnid. I come now to kill a worthy opponent!”

Veriasse raised his own wrists and crossed them. The two proceeded over the field. All around, dronon began their chant. A familiar thrumming filled the air, and the sound of it raised the hair on the back of Everynne’s neck.

When they were ten meters apart, Xim’s wings flashed and he soared into the air. The ceiling was far higher here than it had been on Dronon, and the vanquisher took full advantage of the larger area, sweeping in faster than Dinnid ever had. He flew toward the setting sun, then turned and screamed toward Veriasse, battle arms outstretched.

Veriasse stood tall and proud in his black robes of office, the dark chains of his mantle flowing down his shoulders. He raised his fists as if to strike, but Xim flashed his battle arms in a rolling blur and flew straight at Veriasse.

Veriasse was forced to dodge, roll away.

Xim repeated the tactic four times, each time veering nearer to Veriasse, and each time Veriasse had to retreat. On the fourth pass, Veriasse got up, holding his ribs painfully. He gasped for breath, and Everynne suddenly saw Xim’s plan. The dronon knew of Veriasse’s injury. Xim sought to aggravate it.

Xim circled the room, continued his charges. On the seventh swipe, he swerved near, slashed with a sensor, whipping Veriasse across the forehead, knocking Veriasse’s goggles aside. Veriasse tried to dodge the attack, rolled to his feet and staggered. Jagget’s black mantle fell from his head.

Blood flowed down his face, covering his eyes. Veriasse tried to wipe the blood away, and Xim swerved short of the roof to the glass dome, pressed the attack. He shot low over Veriasse’s head, spat the contents of his stomach. The acid hit the wound, and Veriasse rolled to the ground, writhing. He tried to wipe his face with his robe.

Faster and faster Xim circled the great room with seeming effortlessness, his legs pumping rapidly as he flew.

Veriasse staggered to his feet, got up and spun in a circle, blinking frantically, his eyes a swollen mess. He tried to wipe the acid from his face. “Everynne!” he shouted.