The Golden Queen (22 page)

Gallen considered the way that she had said it, pulled back. “Veriasse was your mother’s escort. Was he also her lover?”

Everynne nodded, and suddenly Gallen understood. Once the omni-mind downloaded its memories, Everynne would become Semarritte in every way. Veriasse was not just trying to restore the Great Lord Judge to his people. He was rebuilding his wife. “He has never touched me, never made love to me,” Everynne said. “But I can see how I torment him. I’m but a child to him, a shadow of the woman he loves. Sometimes he watches me, and I can see how his desire tears at him.”

Everynne leaned close for a long moment. Gallen could feel her heart hammering against his chest. “Give me this night,” she said. “Whatever comes later, let me stay with you tonight.”

Gallen looked into her wide eyes, felt the heat of her body next to his.

“I know you want me,” she said. “I’ve felt the intensity of your gaze from the moment we first met. I want you, too.”

Gallen found himself shaking, stricken. She was indeed the most beautiful, most perfect woman he had ever seen, and it hurt to know that they could never be together. He could not deny what he felt. If she asked him to become her Lord Escort, fight the dronon in her behalf, he would gladly do so, lay his life on the line day after day, hour after hour.

Yet she could only promise him one night of love. Everynne pulled off her own robe and undergarments, stood in the dusk and let him hold her. Her breasts were small but pert. Her hips were shapely, strong. She began breathing deeply, pulled off Gallen’s robe, then pulled him down to the deep sweet grass there on the parapet, and together they made love long and slow.

Afterward, they lay together naked. Down in the sea below, the waves covered the limestone and the torchbearer fish lit the ocean in pale green. Above them, the clouds passed and stars sprinkled the sky, until everything was light. The warm winds blew through the trees, and Gallen felt peace inside.

Everynne cuddled closer, and they slept awhile. When he woke, the winds were beginning to cool. The great school of torchbearer fish had departed, and the night draped over them like a tent. Gallen kept his arms wrapped around her protectively. He could not help but think that this was the beginning and the end of their love. They had sealed it with one, small, nearly insignificant act. Now, the future lay before them, and no matter what happened, tomorrow the winds of change would blast them apart like two leaves scattered in a storm. The sky above them was so vast, so nearly infinite in size, and it seemed to Gallen that they were lying naked while the infinite, appalling darkness prepared to descend.

Thus it was that at last Gallen looked up to see Veriasse standing in the shadows at the head of the trail. Gallen startled, tried to sit up and throw his clothes on in one move, but Veriasse raised a finger to his lips.

“Careful, don’t wake her,” he said, his voice ragged. “Throw her robe over her, keep her warm.”

Gallen did so, slid into his undergarments, then his own robes. He watched Veriasse from the corner of his eye, half afraid that the older man would attack him, but Veriasse seemed more hurt than angry. He kept his arms protectively folded over his stomach and turned away, began walking slowly up the path.

Gallen finished dressing and followed Veriasse. The old man walked with his back straight, tense. Gallen needed to break the silence, so he said softly, “I’m sorry, I—”

Veriasse whirled, stared hard at Gallen. “No apologies are necessary,” he said at last, with hurt in his voice. “Everynne obviously has chosen you over me. I suppose it is only natural. She is a young woman, and you’re an attractive man. I, ah, ah …” He raised his hands, let them drop in consternation.

“I’m sorry,” Gallen said, unable to think of anything more.

Veriasse advanced on him, pointed his finger. “You shut your mouth! You know nothing of sorrow! I’ve loved her for six thousand years. I love her as you could only hope to love her!”

“No!” Gallen shouted, and suddenly a rage burned in him. “You loved her mother, you miserable bastard! Everynne is
not
Semarritte! Everynne may be willing to do your will, she may be willing to wear the omni-mind for the good of her people, but if she puts it on, you will have destroyed her. You will have murdered your own daughter in order to regain the woman you love!”

Veriasse’s eyes blazed and his nostrils flared. Gallen realized that his mantle was heightening his vision. Gallen’s own muscles tightened and when Veriasse swung, Gallen ducked under the attack, sought to remain calm, emotionally detached. He punched at Veriasse’s belly, but the old man dodged, kicked at Gallen’s chest.

Suddenly they were both moving, spinning in a blur of fists and feet in the darkness. Veriasse was like a ghost, impossible to touch. Guided by his mantle, Gallen swung and kicked in a steady barrage of attacks that would have overwhelmed any dozen ruffians back on Tihrglas, yet never did a blow land with any force. Sometimes Veriasse would turn a blow, and in one brief portion of a second, Gallen’s hopes soared. But after three minutes, he had not landed a blow, and he was beginning to tire. He knew that Veriasse would soon attack.

Gallen stepped back from the fight, took a defensive stance. Veriasse was not winded. “I wore that mantle for six thousand years, and would be wearing it now if I didn’t fear that it would jeopardize my right to fight in ritual combat,” he said. “I taught it most of what it knows.”

Then he leapt for the attack. Gallen dodged the first few swings and kicks, but Veriasse threw a head punch that Gallen tried to deflect with his wrist. The old man was far stronger than Gallen had ever imagined, and the blow felt as if it would snap Gallen’s arm. The punch grazed his chin, sent him sprawling.

Gallen leapt back to his feet, let the mantle guide his actions. Veriasse began a deadly dance, throwing kicks and punches in combinations that were designed to leave a victim defenseless. Gallen’s mantle began whispering to him—this is a fourteen-kick combination—flashing images of what would happen in his mind quickly so that Gallen could escape the final consequences.

After forty seconds, Veriasse leapt back, apparently winded, studied Gallen appreciatively for a second, then leapt into combat once more. He swung and kicked in varying combinations so fast that Gallen’s mantle was overwhelmed; Gallen had to fend blindly, retreating through the woods. Veriasse was swinging and leaping, his fists and hands in Gallen’s face so much that Gallen was sure he would go for a low kick. But suddenly Veriasse vaulted into the air and kicked for his chest. Gallen reached up to turn the kick with his arm, but the old man shifted in midair, aiming the kick at the blocking arm.

The blow landed with a snapping sound on the ganglia in Gallen’s elbow, numbing the entire arm. A second kick landed as Veriasse dropped, hitting Gallen’s ribs hard enough to knock the wind from him. Veriasse twisted as he fell through the air, and a third kick grazed Gallen’s head, knocking off his mantle.

Gallen hit the ground, gasping for breath, and glared up at Veriasse. He would be no match for the old man without a mantle. Even with a mantle, he’d been no match for the old man.

Veriasse stood over him, gasping. Sweat poured down Gallen’s face; without the mantle, he could see little in the darkness, but he could make out Veriasse’s blazing eyes. Gallen held his aching arm, found that he could only move his numb fingers with difficulty.

“I don’t need you,” Veriasse said. “You are not coming with us.”

“I’m sure Everynne will have something to say about that,” Gallen said.

“And I’m equally sure that I will not listen to her.”

“Just as you’ve never listened to her?” Gallen asked. “You send her to her death and think you can ignore her cries?”

“You find that appalling?” Veriasse said roughly, his voice suddenly choked.

“Yes,” Gallen said. “I find
you
appalling.”

The old man nodded his head weakly, stood by a tree and suddenly grabbed it for support, looking about absently as if he had lost something. “Well, well, so be it. I find myself appalling. There is an apt saying among my people, ‘Of all men, old politicians are the most damned, for they must live out their days in a world of their own creation.’ “

Gallen was surprised that Veriasse did not argue, did not defend his actions. “Is it so easy for you to be appalling?”

“What I’m doing,” Veriasse said, straightening his shoulder, “appalls even me … But, I can think of nothing else to do. Gallen, an omni-mind takes thousands of years to construct. Once it is built, it is meant to be used by only one person throughout the ages. If another person tries to wield it, the intelligence cannot function to full capacity. We
must
win back that omni-mind! And though I wish it were not so, whoever deigns to use it will be consumed in the process. I knew this when I first cloned Everynne. I knew she would be destroyed. Somehow, the sacrifice seemed more … bearable at the time.” Veriasse turned away, his breath coming deep and ragged. “Gallen, Gallen—how did I get into this mess?”

Veriasse needed a way out of his predicament. He stood for a moment, his back turned to Gallen. “What if you get killed in your match with the dronon?” Gallen asked. “What will happen to Everynne?”

“She may be killed also.”

“But, if I remember your words correctly, that is not what the dronon do to their own Golden Queens who lose the combat. Instead, the losing queen is only marred and may never compete in the contest again.”

“True,” Veriasse agreed, “sometimes. But the decision whether to mar or destroy the queen comes at the whim of the victor. I fear that the dronon would not spare Everynne. They murdered all of the Tharrin they could catch in this sector after the invasion, then obliterated their genetic matter.”

“I am coming with you to Dronon,” Gallen said. “If you lose, perhaps I can convince the dronon to only mar Everynne. Of all possible outcomes, this one alone gives her some hope. She would be free to live her own life.”

Veriasse looked down at Gallen, raised an eyebrow. “You would risk everything on this one chance to save her? It sounds like a noble gamble,” he admitted. Veriasse paused, drew a breath, and he suddenly straightened, as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders. “I will welcome your company, then. And if I die in the contest, I can only hope that you will succeed in bringing Everynne away safely. She is a great treasure, the last of her kind in this part of the galaxy.”

Veriasse helped Gallen to his feet. Gallen’s arm and ribs ached. Veriasse said heavily, “I would like to ask you an important favor. When I gave you my mantle, I did so with ulterior motives. Gallen, I have seen tapes of the Lord Escort’s battles. His name is Xim, and among the Lord Escorts, he is the most capable warrior in many generations. I do not think I have a great chance to survive this fight. If I die, I want you to be my successor. Would you become the next Lord Escort?”

“Me?” Gallen asked, suddenly aware that Veriasse had made a complete turnabout. “But I’m no one. Certainly you have better warriors than me.”

“We created the guardians to fight for us,” Veriasse said, “and so we have not needed human warriors. You wear my mantle, and in time, given a few years, it will teach you. You could become as great a warrior as any I might hope to find.”

Gallen considered the request. He was tempted to say yes. If Everynne died, another like her would be created, and her need would be just as great. Yet if he promised to do as Veriasse asked, he would be bound to labor for many years with perhaps nothing but an ignominious death as a reward. He recalled his oath, that when his heart was hot to aid another, he would always do so.

“As you wish,” Gallen said.

Chapter 13

As night fell, Maggie and Orick sat talking to Grandmother. The old woman let the children build a bonfire with branches from the nearby woods, and Grandmother asked Maggie many questions about her home in Clere.

Maggie told Grandmother of her work in the inn, how she cleaned and scrubbed and cooked all day. She told how her mother died of sickness after giving birth, and of her father and brothers, who had all drowned when their small fishing boat capsized. It seemed to Maggie that Tihrglas was a cold and bitter place, where she had felt cramped, forced into a corner, and as she talked, Maggie realized that she did not want to go back. To live here on Cyannesse, even to live on Fale as a free woman, would be better.

Yet when she finished telling Grandmother about Tihrglas, the old woman smiled and nodded sagely. “We are like you, in that we keep no android servants. This lets us serve one another and take pride in our work. A simple life is best,” she said, as if she were agreeing that, yes, life on Tihrglas must be peaceful.

Maggie wanted to growl and scream in the old woman’s face, but Orick chimed in with, “Och, well said! I’ll drink to that!” and he lifted a goblet of wine in his great paws and poured it down his throat.

The wind was blowing through the trees, and it sounded like the wind that blew through Tihrglas on a summer’s night, warm and comforting with the taste of the sea in it. It was the same kind of wind that had lulled Maggie to sleep as a child, and she felt a pang of longing, not for that damned Tihrglas, but for her childhood, for the blissful ignorance she felt before she’d heard of the dronon, and Maggie realized that if she had never heard of the dronon, even if she’d never left home, she would probably have grown old and been content. “Yes,” Maggie agreed at last, “a simple life is best.”

Veriasse had gone out to look for Gallen and Everynne quite awhile ago, and Maggie was growing worried. Veriasse had said that there were factions who would fight Everynne. Maggie wondered if such factions existed here on Cyannesse, among these seemingly peaceful people.

“I think I’ll go look for Gallen,” Maggie said, and she went uphill, past the singers who sat around a small fire.

By now the stars were out. A red moon was rising and the ocean had slid in under the city. With the wind, Maggie felt pleasantly cool, and she strained her senses as she entered the woods. She found dozens of trails and had no idea which to take, but soon she found one that led to the railing looking out over the ocean. There were benches by the railing, and a path that followed the rail around the city. Maggie imagined that if she just followed the path, she would find Gallen and the others sitting on some bench, talking quietly.

She grabbed the iron rail and used it as a guide, walking through the forest. At the third intersection to another path, she still had not found Gallen and Veriasse, but just as she was ready to pass, she looked down in the cinnabar moonlight, saw Everynne lying in the grass, dead. Her robe was draped over the body, as if to hide it.

Maggie gave a startled cry, rushed to Everynne’s side and pulled off the robe. Everynne was naked. She opened her eyes, looked up.

“What?” Everynne said, sitting up. She looked around in a sleepy daze. “Where’s Gallen?”

Maggie could think of nothing to say. Her heart was hammering and her head spun. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

Everynne crawled through the grass, picked up her underclothing and put it on, watched Maggie without saying anything. She began to put on her robe.

“You took him, just because you could!” Maggie said.

“On many worlds,” Everynne said, “men and women sleep together whenever they want. It means nothing.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said. “Well, where I come from, it means something, and you knew that!”

“I didn’t
want
to hurt you,” Everynne said.

Hurt me?
Maggie wondered.
You’ve crushed me
. Maggie found her heart pounding. She didn’t know who to be maddest at, Gallen or Everynne, but she knew they were both to blame. “Maybe you didn’t want to hurt me,” Maggie said. “But you knew that this
would
hurt me, and you did it anyway. You bought your pleasure by giving me pain. Think about that when you’re the Servant of All.”

Maggie turned and stormed away.

Maggie did not sleep well that night. She returned to the fire, stayed up late listening to the music of this world while waiting for Gallen, but he didn’t return. Veriasse ambled from the woods later. Maggie asked if he had found Gallen. He nodded soberly, saying only, “Gallen and Everynne are talking. They wish to be alone.”

When the music ended and the crowds dispersed, Grandmother conducted Maggie to a large but modestly furnished room, where Maggie bathed in warm water and lay on a soft bed to sleep, with Orick sprawled at her feet.

The longer Gallen and Everynne stayed away together, the more despair tugged at Maggie. She knew she had no claim on Gallen, they weren’t promised to one another, yet she could not help but feel stricken to the core. Two years earlier, when Maggie’s father and brothers had all drowned, a horrible sense of loss had overwhelmed her. But somehow it was less than what she suffered now. To watch family die caused more grief than Maggie had ever believed she would suffer again.

But when Gallen slept with Everynne, Maggie didn’t just grieve from the loss but agonized with the numbing realization that no matter what she did, she could never match up to Everynne. Maggie could love Gallen, serve him, offer everything she was and ever hoped to become, but she wasn’t good enough.

Part of her wanted to be angry at Everynne, to hate the woman for stealing Gallen. But the more she thought about it, the less Maggie found that possible. She had been jealous of Everynne from the first. Everynne was beautiful and kind, and in her own way she bore an air of profound loss and loneliness. It was hard for Maggie to resent someone who was in such pain.

A part of Maggie wanted to be angry with Gallen, but she kept reminding herself that he had never promised her anything. In the end, his loving Everynne seemed inevitable.

In the morning, Maggie stayed in bed late, hoping to get some sleep. Orick left for breakfast quietly, then returned.

“Grandmother and Everynne want to see you,” Orick said. “They have gifts. Everynne and Veriasse are planning to leave. They want to say goodbye.”

Maggie lay on the bed, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep. She could not think straight. “No. I’m not coming.”

“Are you sure?” Orick asked. “They have some nice gifts.” Maggie’s curiosity was piqued, but she didn’t want to let it show. “And there’s something else. I guess I’d better break the news to you myself. Gallen is going with Everynne and Veriasse.”

“He is?” Maggie asked, pulling the covers down so that she could look at Orick. The bear stood on all fours at the head of the bed, his nose only inches from her face so that he could sniff her as he spoke, the way that bears will. She could smell fruit and dirt on his moist breath.

“No, I can’t go,” Maggie said.

“That’s a shame.” Orick turned away. “Gallen will be hurt that you didn’t say good-bye.”

“He doesn’t know what it means to hurt,” Maggie said.

“Hmmm …” Orick grumbled. “I suppose you’re referring to what happened last night? There’s a lot of folks out there giving guilty looks and shuffling their feet. Even a bear can figure out what’s going on.” Maggie didn’t answer. “Och, what are you thinking, girl? Gallen loves you! How can you believe otherwise?”

“He loves Everynne,” Maggie said.

“You humans are so narrow!” Orick replied. “He loves you both. Now, if you were a bear, you wouldn’t get so all bound up in trivial affairs. You would come into heat, go find some handsome young man if one was available—or an ugly old geezer if nothing better could be had—and you would invite him to perform his favorite duty in life. Then you would be done with it. None of this moaning and moping and wondering if someone loves you.”

“And what if someone else wanted your lover?” Maggie asked.

“Why, that’s easy!” Orick said. “You wait until he’s done, then invite him over. Just because a bear is interested in one female today, doesn’t mean he won’t want another tomorrow.”

Maggie found herself thinking of evolution, such a new concept, yet one her Guide had taught her much about. Human mothers and bear mothers had different needs. A female bear didn’t have to spend twenty years raising her cubs the way a human did, and bears ate so much that having a male bear around to compete for food just didn’t make sense.

“Of course,” Orick offered, “if you’re in a hurry to get a lover, you could just go bite the competition on the ass, chase her away.”

“I can’t do that, either. They’re leaving together. Besides, it’s not that easy with people.”

“Sure it is,” Orick said. “If you love Gallen, you’ll fight for what you want. Get mad! Oh, hell, what am I talking to you for? Don’t you realize that Gallen made his choice long ago when he rescued you from Lord Karthenor?”

Maggie watched the bear trudge away, his belly swaying from side to side. “Stupid people,” he grumbled. “Sometimes I don’t know why I bother. Maybe I’ve had things backward. Did my mother tell me to eat sheep and talk to people, or was it eat people and talk to sheep?” He wandered off.

Maggie tossed on the bed, angry at herself. Everynne, Veriasse, and Gallen would be leaving, and there was a strong possibility that they would be killed. Yet Maggie was lying here pouting. She steeled her nerves, threw off her covers.

Outside, the bright morning suns rose in an amber haze. The water had dropped during the night, revealing a vast beach, wet and gleaming. Already, the children were running out over the sand toward the rocky tidal pools to hunt.

Maggie found Gallen and the others just outside her door, sitting on stone benches in the plaza. Grandmother had three airbikes sitting in the open—machines that were all motor and chrome with a set of stabilizing wings both fore and aft. At Grandmother’s feet sat several packages wrapped in silver foil.

“Ah, Maggie, I am so glad you made it,” Grandmother said, clapping her wrinkled hands. “You are just in time for gifts.” The old woman smiled so graciously that Maggie could not help but believe Grandmother took great pleasure in her company. Indeed, they had spoken together for a long time the previous evening, but Maggie had become so distracted afterward that the pleasantness had been driven from her mind.

Grandmother looked through her packages. “First,” she said softly, “I have a gift for Lady Everynne, who is already rich beyond anything I can offer. Still, I was thinking last night that you will be going to fight the dronon, who esteem their Golden Queen higher than any other.” Maggie looked at the old woman in surprise. She had forgotten that, as a Tharrin, Grandmother had been apprised of Semarritte’s plans. “Since you will be our Golden Queen, you must look the part. I have for you some golden clothes and a mantle of gold.” She brought out two packages. Everynne unwrapped them.

The outfit included long gloves and boots, stockings and a tunic, all in brilliant gold. The small mantle was made of golden ringlets and fit over her hair. “You will find that the gloves and clothing are very tough,” the old woman said. “Almost as tough as symbiotic armor. Often, a dronon queen will defend herself if a Lord Escort chooses to do more than mar her. If you are forced to defend yourself, these clothes will help protect you. In addition, we have bonded a selenium matrix into the fists of the gloves and toes of the boots. A solid blow to a dronon body will let you crack its exoskeleton. “

Everynne thanked Grandmother, and the old woman turned to Veriasse. “For our Lord Protector, I doubt that we have anything on our world that could match the weapons you already bear. And so, I give you a special hope. It is a small thing, but perhaps it will carry you through a dark time.” She handed him a small package, and he opened it. The package contained a crystal vial. Veriasse took out the glass stopper.

Immediately a heavenly scent wafted through the air of the open courtyard, and Maggie was filled with such enthusiasm and a boundless sense of strength that she wanted to leap from her seat with a battle cry. Veriasse suddenly seemed to become a younger man—all the cares and worries that so creased his brow melted away. He threw back his head and laughed deep and easy. In that moment, Maggie had no doubt that Veriasse would slay the Lords of the Swarm. He was a powerful man; he could not fail.

Veriasse stoppered the vial, yet Maggie’s sense of boundless fervor was slow to diminish. From Maggie’s work with the aberlains, she knew that the vial must contain an extract of simple proteins-the chemical components of enthusiasm to act upon the hypothalamus, along with some type of airborne delivery system so that “hope” could be absorbed through the sinus membranes as a person breathed.

And yet, even having some idea how the hope was borne, she couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship inherent in the gift. The artist had combined the hope with some exotic perfume and had probably taken great pains to mix the right proteins so that he could elicit the perfect response.

Grandmother looked over the little group. “For Gallen, the Lady Everynne has asked a special thing. He once asked for eternal life in return for his service. And even though he rescinded his request, he has more than earned his reward. She would like to begin payment.” She lifted a small packet from the ground, handed it to Gallen. “Inside, you will find six tablets containing a full set of nanodoctors. They will help heal your wounds, slow your aging, cure all ills. You have only to swallow the tablets. You will not be immortal, of course. You can be killed. But before you leave here today, we will take a template of your intellect and gather gene specimens. Then, if you should die, we can build you again.”

Maggie knew something of how valuable a gift this would be. Even in Everynne’s world, such things were reserved only for the most deserving. Yet Gallen took the small package, hefted it, then glanced into Maggie’s eyes. He tossed the package to her. “I want you to have this. I wanted it for you all along.”