Read Lords of the Seventh Swarm Online
Authors: David Farland
Lords of the Seventh Swarm (34 page)
Chapter 40
Thomas Flynn stalked behind Lord Felph, following a trail of corpses through the tangle. Between the boles of vast trees, smoke hung in the air in iridescent wisps, reflecting the light of Thomas’s glow globe.
The air was remarkably cool despite the smoke. The fighting had died down two hours ago, yet Felph and Thomas often passed roving patrols of Vanquishers who still hunted for Maggie and Gallen.
Though Felph hurried, his journey through Teeawah took longer than anticipated. He’d pinpointed the course he wanted to follow, using a map provided by the dronon, but following the precise route proved impossible. The Vanquishers simply flew when they wanted to travel up or down, so Felph ended up traveling twice the distance as the Vanquishers to reach the ancient city.
On the trail in, they passed the corpses of fantastic monsters—the purple-black sfuz with their thin legs, the long pale corpse of a mistwife, some previously undiscovered creature Thomas called a
troll
—for it had greenish skin and hair that looked like roots, all with a nose at least two feet long. Dronon dead littered the path in places, primarily asphyxiated by the flames thrown by their own incendiary rifles. Felph robbed their corpses of pulp guns, gave a spare to Thomas.
Only once did they spot a sfuz—a frantic creature so busy dragging a Vanquisher’s corpse it did not notice Felph till he shot it. Thomas felt surprised at how the sfuz had not seen them, for they had not hidden their light. Perhaps in this battle, with its massive carnage on both sides, the mind of this poor wretched beast had snapped.
In its death throes, the sfuz protectively wrapped four legs around its head. Thomas gazed deep into its indigo eyes. Fires had burned here. Three spots in the turf still smoldered from incendiary fires, trailing thin white plumes of smoke.
Felph halted, watching the sfuz, his leg propped up on the thorax of a dead Vanquisher. He sniffed.
“How long have you been working for Karthenor?” Felph asked.
Thomas could not answer. Karthenor had ordered Thomas to be silent earlier in the morning. Thomas’s Guide would not recognize Felph’s request.
“Are you a slave, fresh captured?” Felph asked.
Thomas nodded.
Felph considered. “Do you think a man should work for what he gets, or just take it? Receive reward without sweat?”
Thomas shook his head no.
Felph watched Thomas thoughtfully. “Me neither.”
Thomas wondered if Felph planned to free him. Perhaps so, but if he did, he wasn’t saying. Rather forcefully Felph said, “I don’t think it should happen. In fact, I don’t believe it ever does. Remember, Thomas, everything has its price. Everything. Even you. Karthenor believes he has captured a prize. But you will cost him. It is a law of nature, and nature will not be violated.”
Aye, everything has a cost
, Thomas silently agreed
, but my ignorance cost me more than it’s worth. Give me a hand, man. If you removed this Guide, I’d write a song to immortalize the deed!
Felph studied Thomas’s eyes.
Go on, man, save me! You can read everything I want to say from my eyes.
“Indeed,” Felph said, “everything has a price. Even compassion. I would free you if I could. I have the tools in my palace. But I cannot do so now. Perhaps I will never be in a position to do so. But remember, my friend, you are free if you so desire to be. Karthenor may force you to do his will—his Guide might control your actions even past the moment when your brain ceases to function—but so long as you do not let his will supplant yours, you are always free.
Lord Felph stroked his thin beard, a gesture that somehow made him look much older, then he turned away and headed down the trail, as if he’d decided to let Thomas be.
Thomas despaired. Freedom of thought was not much at all. Freedom of thought was an itch, begging to be scratched. And Thomas wondered if the moment would come when Karthenor’s will would supplant his own.
We two are too much alike
, Thomas realized.
With very little difficulty, he and I could be the same man.
Felph led the way deeper into the tangle. Their path led past several dozen dead sfuz, up a steep incline where rainwater washed down, making a thin stream that ran with green and purple blood.
The time of day or night did not matter, though Thomas felt weary. The interminable darkness told his body to rest despite the fact Thomas had been awake for only ten hours that day.
All around, the hoary shadows of the tangle assaulted him, the tatters of roots hanging from above, the musky mineral scent of mold and rot, the constant dripping. The scenery seemed appropriate for a nightmare, and every two hundred meters they chanced on some new horror, some new site of a slaughter, until at long last they trudged up a path and came to the golden cliffs of Teeawah.
There holes opened in the rock like giant eyes. Smoke curled out from them, and from the openings hung the bodies of sfuz, chopped in half by gunfire.
Lord Felph jogged up to the holes, raising his glow globe over his head, peering into the dark recesses of the lair. At one point, he held up the light, then pointed his gun into the shadows and fired—an almost nonchalant gesture. From inside the cave, a shrill whistle erupted, the death cry of a sfuz.
“Here is a passage!” Felph shouted. “Back behind these bodies.” He jumped up into the oval opening, climbed in. For one second Thomas saw the opening lit from inside. Felph seemed to be the pupil of a great burning eye, then the image faded as Felph hurried inside.
Thomas came up, surveyed the inside of the fortress. The bodies of a dozen sfuz sprawled on the floor, wrapped in their own arms and legs. These did not ooze blood. They’d been asphyxiated.
The hollow chamber here was shaped, something like an egg. Thomas had imagined there would be furnishings inside, as if it were a home back on Tihrglas with a butter churn in one corner and a sofa near the fireplace.
What he saw repulsed him. The floors lay bare of furnishings, but in every corner bones and dung lay in fetid heaps. All along the wall were odd trophies—dozens of flesh-covered heads from some large creatures, like ogres, each with a huge horn on its forehead; a collection of animal tails were tacked in another line; an assortment of dried turds and testicles were pinned into the stone with wooden thorns. It wasn’t until Thomas whiffed the ungodly odor from these items that he realized they weren’t to look at—these items were here to smell.
Maybe the sfuz relished these bouquets as humans would the scent of flowers. Or more likely, this room seemed to form a library of scents, where young hunters could learn to track prey.
“Here’s what we’re looking for,” Felph said, holding his light to a large passage that opened near the wall. “A common area. The Quaieewoohs connect these from various points. They twist a lot, and can be tricky.”
With that, he held his glow globe aloft, began searching along a wide passage with a low ceiling that Ied deep into the city. Everywhere, side passages led to small rooms.
Felph ignored these as he clambered over asphyxiated sfuz.
“Let me tell you something,” Felph huffed. “We have perhaps two hours before these dead sfuz begin to reanimate. By then, we’d best be well away.” It was such an odd thing to say, and the young lord said it with such sincerity, the, notion took Thomas’s breath. Did he really believe these dead would rise again?
In the past weeks, Thomas had seen so many wonders, he couldn’t question this.
If you told me they’d all transform into hummingbirds,
Thomas thought,
it wouldn’t faze me
.
They found another large passage that merged with the one they were in, like streams meeting to form a river, becoming one enormous tunnel, heading downward.
Here, in the depths of the city, the numbers of dead diminished. It was as if all the sfuz had gone to do battle. Yet ahead, Thomas heard an odd whistling, and Felph immediately fell into a crouch, waving his weapon.
“Well,” Felph whispered. “It seems we have company. The sfuz must be guarding their waters. Get your weapon ready to fire.”
Thomas did as ordered, though he’d never fired a pulp pistol. It was similar enough to Gallen’s incendiary rifle, he thought he knew, how to handle it.
He held it stiffly, at arm’s length, afraid of its explosive power. Felph frowned at his stance.
They descended down the wide corridor to meet the sfuz.
Chapter 41
Orick smelled the dead dronon before he saw them, but he smelled Gallen, too, and bounded forward, calling Gallen’s name.
Gallen raised up, like a heap of bloody rags coming to life, and Orick froze in horror.
“Or-Or-Go back!” Gallen choked.
From the far end of the chamber, as lights suddenly blazed, a Vanquisher stepped forward, a shadow among shadows, and knelt low, crossing its battle arms before it, pointing its head to the floor. Its mouthfingers pounded over its voicedrum and a translator said, “Welcome, Maggie Flynn, O great and honored Golden Queen. We bring you greetings and a challenge from Cintkin and Kintiniklintit, Lords of the Seventh Swarm.”
“No!” Maggie screamed.
“This land is ours,” the Vanquisher continued his ritual greeting. “All land is ours! A great Golden Queen comes among you. She is worthy! Prepare for battle!
Behind Orick, Maggie screamed again, “No! No!” The sound of it nearly broke his heart. A dozen times in the last months he’d heard her wake in the night, screaming those words.
Now it comes
, he realized,
the sum of all her nightmares
.
Above him, dozens of dronon flapped their wings. By instinct Orick reared on his hind legs, prepared to battle. He sniffed the air, and immediately dropped to all fours. He was a bear, alone against dronon with heavy weapons. He couldn’t fight. To Tailea’s credit. she too had reared on her hind legs, and now stood, roaring her rage, so the sound reverberated through the chamber. The nearest dronon shrank back reflexively.
Give ’em hell
, Orick thought. He ran to Gallen, found Gallen nearly unconscious.
“Gallen, Gallen?” Orick grumbled, and he licked Gallen’s face, trying to shock his friend awake. He tasted blood and dirt.
Gallen struggled to look up. He seemed unaware of what was going on. He choked out the words. “Get out of here. The dronon were here. Don’t let them get Maggie!”
Orick tried to survey all the damage at once. Gallen’s face was a swollen mass. Blood stained the robes of his arms and legs. His mantle was gone, lying in the dirt a dozen paces out of his reach. His right leg twisted at an unnatural angle, broken in more than one place, chained to a stake in the ground.
“Are you all right?” Orick asked in shock, knowing Gallen was an inch from death, not knowing what else to say.
Gallen just dropped his head and began to sob, his shoulders shuddering under the impact. “Found … city. Ahead. Beat me. They beat me … so bad.”
Orick looked at the dead dronon lying about, hacked with a vibro-blade, carapaces smashed from kicks. Gallen must have put up a terrible fight, an unholy fight. At least two dozen of the creatures lay dead. He’d never imagined anything like it.
Orick suddenly became aware that Maggie had rushed up beside him and had fallen to her knees. He’d been so focused on Gallen, hadn’t registered her presence still standing behind him. She just knelt, hovering above Gallen, her hands out, wanting to touch him, afraid to touch him, lest she hurt him further.
“Gallen, lad, what can I do for you? What can I do?” I’ll fight in his place, Orick thought. That’s what I’ll do. He can’t fight, so I’ll take his place.
Gallen shook his head. Nothing. You can do nothing, he was saying.
“I know, I know,” Orick said. “I’ll cut myself, let the nanodocs in my blood heal you. the way we did for Everynne that time.”
Gallen’s head wobbled back and forth, and Orick reached with one claw, pricked his right paw, then began smearing blood over Gallen’s head on the top. He felt as if he were a bishop, anointing a priest with holy oil. He dared not smear the blood elsewhere, for Gallen’s body was so battered and torn, he didn’t want to hurt his friend. By hurting I heal him, Orick thought, and he dabbed the blood over a deep gash on Gallen’s temple.
Maggie put a restraining hand on Orick’s paw. Though she’d been sobbing uncontrollably, her voice when she spoke sounded calm. “Don’t Orick. You’re only hurting him. Don’t hurt him more. There’s no time. Even with nanodocs, it will take weeks for him to heal.”
Orick looked up at her.
She’s reconciled to her own death,
he realized. “But, but—I’ll fight for you, Maggie. I”ll be your Lord Protector!”
Maggie held a glow globe lightly in her left hand. Its piercing light shone full on her face. She was pale as death, the freckles she’d had as a child standing out unnaturally clear. Maggie took several breaths. Gallen fainted, and she put one hand on his shoulder, then looked at Orick, as if he were far away.
“Orick, my friend, my dearest friend. There’s nothing you can do for me now. If you fight in Gallen’s stead, you’ll die. You can’t beat the dronon. I won’t have the weight of that on my conscience. Gallen wouldn’t want it either.”
Orick stared. She was right, yet he could not accept defeat. “No!” Orick cried.
“I’ll … I’ll … Will you listen to me?” Maggie said. “Will you obey me, as if I were your Golden Queen?”
Orick’s jaw trembled. “What? What do you want?”
“Gallen and I, we’ve had good lives. You know that we were both infected by the Inhuman. We remember life. We cherish it. We’ve both lived far longer than any person should rightfully live. It’s time for it to end. You have to let us go.”
“No!” Orick roared.
“But I think I speak for us both,” Maggie added, “when I tell you that of all our lives, this one we’ve spent with you is the one we treasured most. You’ve been a great and good friend.”
“No!” Orick shouted.
“Leave us, now,” Maggie begged.
Tallea came up behind Orick, nuzzled his ear, and whispered. “The Waters of Strength. We could still save him.”
Orick looked up to the dronon who had addressed Maggie, and shouted, “Where will the battle for succession take place?”
“At the great palace, the seat of government for this world,” the dronon answered.
Orick turned to Maggie. He promised. “I’ll get the Waters. I’ll be back. I’ll bring it for you.”
Maggie nodded, biting her lower lip, unbelieving.
Orick and Tallea made their way pass the dronon messenger who stood before them, to pass through the chamber.
“Halt!” the Vanquisher ordered.
Maggie stood, letting her arms hang loose at her side, a pose of dignity under the circumstances. “You will let them pass. I’m still Golden Queen on this world, and you’ll not interfere with my servants on their errand.”
The dronon stood warily, then raised itself up to its full height in a defensive posture, its battle arms poised to strike, and stepped away. Orick scampered past the Vanquisher, then into the darkness beyond, where several more dronon lined the wall.
Tallea held her glow globe in her teeth. In moments they were running together, shadows bobbing in the darkness.
Gallen’s path ahead was easy to follow—trampled by dronon tracks. The dronon had apparently found his trail, taken Gallen from behind in an open chamber. Even a Lord Protector cannot withstand six dozen dronon when he’s outgunned.
Orick came to a broad bog, silent and cold, and had to swim across. After that, Gallen’s tracks became confusing. He’d spent hours exploring various passages, backtracking, climbing up and down tree trunks, looking for the road.
Zeus’s tracks followed Gallen’s. In one place, Gallen had followed a false trial, and Zeus had gone after. Orick imagined that it was under such circumstances that Gallen had returned from his trip, passing Zeus, who had gone chasing a false trail. Indeed, Orick found the precise spot where the dronon had met Gallen’s trail, bypassing Zeus. And Orick followed the false trail a few dozen meters, found Zeus’s tracks in the dirt, plastered around a little side chamber.
Zeus must have hidden here, watching the adjoining tunnel. He must have heard the dronon coming. In fact, Zeus may even have spotted Gallen from this hiding place.
So Zeus was headed to the city, Orick reasoned, not searching for Gallen at all. Zeus had gone questing for the Waters of Strength to suit his own ends.
This information filled Orick with a terrible sadness.
Orick had little choice but to follow Gallen’s trail—a long and winding way through the tangle. For three hours he picked his way, twice losing Gallen’s trail in boggy ground, once taking a false track.
Gallen had returned to one great chamber on three occasions—taking several trails that all, connected, and Orick had to follow each trail to its conclusion, for the scent and footprints in this chamber were so jumbled as to be impossible to read.
At last, he and Tallea found a broad tunnel with timbers shoring the walls in places. At its juncture he found several dead sfuz.
Four times over the next few hundred meters, Orick found dead sfuz and dronon. Gallen’s trek had been neither easy nor uneventful. The hacked bodies, bleeding gore both green and purple, bore evidence of Gallen’s proficiency in swordsmanship. If Gallen had won his way back to camp, this journey would have been the stuff of legend on Tihrglas.
Orick was acutely aware of the fact that he and Tallea were mere bears, without the weapons Gallen had mastered. If they met any sfuz or dronon, they’d not be able to win their way so easily.
Fortunately for Orick the road was quiet. No sfuz whistled through the tunnels.
Yet as Orick proceeded, to his terror he heard marching feet, the clacking of carapaces against the ground.
Ahead, the tunnel curved. The great timbers shoring it up looked for all the world like the ribs of some great fish. Bright lights shone. A dronon war party was marching his way.
He looked to Tallea for suggestions. If a dronon saw two bears down here, what would they do?
They’d fire, never knowing what they’d killed.
“Run!” Orick shouted, and he turned. Together he and Tallea raced back down the tunnel, away from Teeawah.
