David Farland - The Golden Queen

Everynne cried, “I’m here!” She reached into her pocket, pulled out the bottle of Hope that Grandmother had given her on Cyannesse, opened it and sprinkled a drop on the ground.

Veriasse was still blinking, and though he fixed on the sound of her voice, he didn’t seem to see her. Yet he suddenly breathed easier, stood tall. He closed his ravaged eyes, listened for the sound of Xim’s wings.

Xim came screaming in from above, and Veriasse blurred as he leapt high into the air and blindly kicked.

Yet the dronon had anticipated his attack. Xim had come in high, and now he lashed down with the claw of his hind foot. It cut through Veriasse like a knife, and blood spattered darkly across the grass.

Around the arena, the dronon vanquishers’ humming raised to a roar, and thousands of them began beating their battle arms together. The sound was deafening. Some of them rushed into the arena a couple of paces, as if they would tear Veriasse apart and begin feeding now.

Veriasse climbed to his feet, blood streaming from his leg, and he shouted. His voice came to her faintly, “Everynne? Everynne?”

“I’m here,” Everynne called. Xim had swerved back into battle, letting the roar of dronon applause block out the warning sound of his clattering wings.

Everynne shouted, “Watch out!”

But it was too late. The dronon vanquisher dropped to the ground, simultaneously chopping with his battle arms. One huge serrated arm crashed down on Veriasse’s head, slicing him nearly in half. The other fell at an angle, chopping him across the belly.

Xim picked up the mangled corpse, held it overhead and paraded with it a few steps, then tossed it to the ground. All across the great arena, the vanquishers fell silent as Xim turned his attention to Everynne.

Everynne backed away, feeling faint. Xim leapt into the air, landed before her at ten yards, and advanced with battle arms fully extended.

Everynne recalled dully that her gloves were weapons with metal inserts in the knuckles. She raised her hands and shouted.

Suddenly Gallen jumped in front of her, arms crossed at the wrists. He fell down on his knees and shouted, “Lord Xim, I beg you to show mercy to our Golden, as Lord Veriasse showed mercy to your queen. Do not kill her, but mar her only.”

Everynne did not know if the dronon understood Gallen. He did not have a translator. Everynne repeated his words, shouting so that the microphone roared her plea.

Lord Xim leapt over Gallen, advanced on her. His mouthfingers tapped over his voice drum. “I will not spare a Tharrin. You have lost your right to live.”

For one second, Everynne stared up into Xim’s faceted clusters of eyes. Each eye reflected a small image of her, fists raised, defiant.

Xim lifted his battle arms for the killing blow, and she suddenly realized that he thought she would make it easy, he thought she would submit to his punishment as if she were a dronon queen.

She screamed and leapt, smashed his right eye cluster with a fist. Xim twisted, caught her with his sensor whips, and smashed her to the ground. There was a great rushing in her ears, and the world twisted violently. In the distance, she could hear Orick shouting her name.

Gallen leapt up from his kneeling position, spun. He had not understood Xim’s reply to his plea for mercy, so he had remained kneeling.

Now Xim had Everynne on the ground. He raised a battle arm and clubbed her. The blow struck home with a sickening thud, and Orick roared in grief, jumped on the dronon and grabbed Xim’s rear leg, biting into it and pulling back.

The dronon vanquisher leapt, trying to flee the unexpected attack, and part of his carapace came away in Orick’s mouth. Gallen could suddenly see Everynne’s body, crimson blood washing over her golden clothing. Her hand trembled violently.

Orick roared and charged in for a second attack, but Xim backed away, raised his battle arms and chopped a slicing blow that ripped through Orick’s right shoulder.

Orick yelped in pain, spun away from the battle, and Xim buzzed his wings and jumped into the air. He flew a lazy pattern while Orick madly danced in circles, blood and hair spattering across the grass. The dronon’s intent was clear. Orick was already mortally wounded. He did not need to engage in battle until the bear weakened further.

Maggie shouted at Gallen, “Do something! Save them!”

Gallen watched it all, and knew that by dronon law he could do nothing. If he tried to protect Everynne, he would only be destroyed, and he had promised Veriasse that he would clone Everynne, come at some time in the future and challenge the Lords of the Swarm again.

He shook his head at Maggie, shouted, “We can’t,” and saw the horror in her eyes. He recalled Primary Jagget’s predictions. Now that the dronon had formed gate keys, they would march through the Maze of Worlds. The Lords of the Swarm would conquer every realm. There would be no future. He had to act.

Everynne twisted on the floor, struggled for something in her pocket. Gallen stood, amazed that with such a wound she could still be alive. He watched her pull out the small vial of Hope. It rolled from her hand.

If I were the greatest warrior in the world, what would I do? Gallen wondered. And he stood, closed his eyes, and tried to clear his mind. He waited, but nothing came.

Maggie shouted at him, raised her hands over her head, crossing her wrists. “Gallen, I am Golden!”

He studied her face, wondering at the possibility. Could she challenge the dronon? And even if she won, what could she do. Maggie had suffered tremendously by wearing a Guide. The knowledge that it so ruthlessly imparted had ripped at the very fabric of her sanity, yet it was nothing compared to the wisdom of the omni-mind. To wear the mantle of Semarritte would destroy her. Even if it did not crush her as the Guide would have, it would tear away her identity.

All of Maggie’s hopes, all her thoughts and dreams would be like words written on a sandy beach, waiting to be erased by the onrushing tide.

“Are you sure?” Gallen shouted. No matter what happened, he was consigning her to destruction. Yet she alone had worked under the dominion of the Lords of the Swarm. She knew the price that whole worlds would pay if she failed.

“Please!” Maggie cried.

Gallen turned. Lord Xim was flying low over the arena, circling back to finish Orick.

Gallen raised his hands, crossed his wrists. “This world is ours! All worlds are ours! A Great Queen comes among you. Prostrate yourselves in adoration, or prepare to do battle!”

The room fell silent, and ten thousand vanquishers looked to Gallen. Lord Xim flew low over Orick, dropped in front of Gallen. The dronon began clicking his mouthfingers, and Gallen went to Veriasse’s corpse, pulled out the translator from his ear, plugged it into his own.

“You claim this woman is also Golden?” Lord Xim asked.

“Yes,” Gallen said. “She is a Golden from the world Tihrglas. All who know her adore her. I am Gallen O’Day, Lord Protector of that world, and her Lord Escort.”

He looked at Maggie, standing there with her long red hair streaming out, her clear blue eyes. He’d seen the longing in men’s faces as they watched her work in the inn back home. Nothing he said was a lie.

Yet Gallen feared that his plan would not work. The dronon lived by their rigid order, their code of honor. He only hoped that his actions and words fit within that order.

Xim seemed agitated by Gallen’s claim. His head swiveled from side to side, and he walked in a circle, dragging his injured leg. “You bring two Goldens and two Lord Escorts?” he asked, confused.

“Yes,” Gallen said. “We humans are soft. We did not think that one pair would be enough.”