The Golden Queen

by David Farland

  The questions were all ringing through her mind, and Maggie willed herself not to answer. Her voice quit speaking.

  Maggie’s head felt as if it would split. Some viselike instrument was crushing her temples. She tried to move her arms and kick, but could not move.

  Nearby, Jagget or one of his clones said, “Sedate her again, quickly.”

  “No!” she shouted, and was swallowed by the cold.

  She woke, perhaps hours later, with a headache. She was in a small, cold room made of stone. It had one light, no windows, no furnishings. The white walls were cracked, like rough skin. Maggie felt her head. Her mantle was gone. From the cold seeping to her bone, she realized so were her underwear and her shoes. She had only the pale green robe she’d worn for the past few days. The place was empty, except for some dirt on the floor and her own ripening scent.

  There was one door in the room. Maggie got up off the floor, approached the door. It slid open. Two Jaggets stood against the far wall of a corridor, and they smiled at her. They wore crisp, identical tan military fatigues.

  “Are either one of you Primary Jagget?”

  As one, the Jaggets shook their heads. One answered, “He’s asked you to join him for lunch.”

  “Lunch? Was I out all night?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes,” the Jagget answered. “We found it desirable to sedate you. We don’t like strangers walking around our compound.” Maggie looked deeply into the Jagget’s dark eyes, saw them glittering with something that might have been madness. She’d reacted to it instinctively the night before.

  “I see,” she said softly.

  “Shall we go to lunch?” the other Jagget offered.

  “Please.” Maggie nodded so that one of them would lead the way.

  “We don’t like to walk in front,” one of the Jaggets said. “Please, you lead.”

  “But I don’t know where we’re going.”

  “Just walk,” the Jagget offered. “We’ll tell you when to turn.”

  Maggie shrugged, headed down a hall dirty with disuse till it reached a side passage. “To the right,” a Jagget said. He guided her through an underground construction facility, and everywhere Jaggets in dull brown coveralls hauled containers, worked at monitoring stations, or stood supervising others. She could not guess from the odd components what they were making. It looked to be some type of personal flier in a new design.

  They climbed some stairs that led to the surface. It was a cool day with blue skies and fresh snow on the ground. Once she saw the compound in the daylight, Maggie saw that this was a military installation. Several towers held gun emplacements, and on the perimeter of the city she spotted heavy generators that powered energy shields. Only then did she notice the faint shimmering in the sky above as sunlight refracted on the shields.

  They climbed a stair that zigzagged uphill to a large house, a stately affair with marble columns. Primary Jagget sat under the portico at a table covered with a white cloth. Sunlight splashed down upon him. The day seemed cool to Maggie, with snow on the ground in most places, but Jagget luxuriated in the thin sunlight, as if it were a warm and pleasant day. Lunch waited on the table. Wine goblets were filled, and an assortment of silver platters held steaming foods. Two Jaggets busily served vegetables onto plates.

  Primary Jagget stood as Maggie climbed the last few steps, smiled warmly. “Greetings, Maggie! Well met! Well met! Are you thirsty after your little climb?” She wondered why he didn’t ask if she was thirsty after her interrogation.

  She was both thirsty and had to urinate, but she didn’t want to admit it to Jagget. She was mad, but in control of her anger. Still, he grabbed a wine goblet, handed it to her.

  A cool wind blew out over the fields of Wechaus, and Maggie drew her robe tight. Primary Jagget raised his glass in a toast and said, “To my kingdom.” He waved in an expansive gesture, indicating the countryside around them.

  She didn’t want to toast with him and wondered how offended he would be if she declined. Primary Jagget noticed her hesitancy and said, “You don’t have to pretend that you like me. I assure you, it is quite uncommon for a woman to take any kind of romantic interest in a Jagget. When I was a lone man, women seemed willing to give their hearts. But now that I am an organism, with hundreds of thousands of individuals acting as cells, people are more … reluctant to accept me. Indeed, as a young man they hailed me as an idealist, but now that I am old, they ridicule me as a fanatic—even though my notions have never changed. Believe me, I have grown accustomed to scorn.”

  “I … don’t scorn you,” Maggie said.

  “Ah, you feel pity,” Jagget said. “A far more noble emotion. Or is it fear? A far more reasonable emotion.”

  Yes, both, Maggie thought, but she would not speak it. She wanted to change the subject. She looked out over the valley. A mine shaft sat off to her left, and four Jaggets drove a car up to the edge of the mine. The car had a trailer, and the trailer carried a large white ball. When they got to the mouth of the mine, the car stopped. The Jaggets exited the car, and one of them climbed up on the trailer and opened some fastenings to the white ball. The ball flipped open, revealing a hollow interior like an egg. One Jagget stood talking to the others for a moment, laughing and slapping their backs, obviously saying good-bye, then he climbed into the egg, flipped down the lid. The others got up, made sure the egg was fastened securely, then drove the car on into the mine shaft.

  “What are those men up to?” Maggie asked.

  “Ah, we are storing some of our personnel for future use,” Primary Jagget said.

  “What do you mean, storing?” Maggie asked, wishing that she had her mantle back.

  “In stasis chambers. We are a defeated planet, you understand. We could choose to flee in starships before the Dronon Empire, but the costs would be prohibitive even for me. So, I am storing some of my clones so that I can wake them when the political climate is more favorable.”

  Maggie shook her head, wondering at this man. She downed her wine, thinking it might be advisable to be drunk for this encounter.

  “I’m sorry for having to take you captive and drug you,” Jagget said. “I needed to check you for weapons, and I couldn’t have you conscious for the procedure. Aren’t you going to ask how I knew you were on Fale in my future?” The smirk on his face assured her that she would have to find out sooner or later.

  “How?” Maggie said.

  “I learned it from the dronon,” Jagget answered. “A huge number of reinforcements landed on the planet through a gate last week. They bore holotapes showing how you and your friends blackmailed them during your escape from Fale. I found it intriguing to watch a newscast from our own future. But the dronon must also have some earlier news, for they suspected that Everynne and Veriasse might have traveled here alone. Anyway, the images of you and your bear friend were not clear in the videos, but I managed to enhance them. The dronon had a gate key that would take them into the past, so they were moving back in time, searching frantically for Terrors on all of their worlds. Since Wechaus is a conquered planet, and since it is rumored to have a gate that leads to Dronon, we received a great deal of attention from the Lords of the Swarm.” Primary Jagget stood posed with his wineglass in hand, obviously pleased with himself.

  “So, what will you do with me?” Maggie asked.

  Primary Jagget shrugged. “In a few moments, we should be receiving a live broadcast of your exploits on Fale. The dronon have been searching for you all night, and they’re trying to mobilize the public against you. If the people here believe that Everynne will leave a Terror on this world, I fear that she will receive a typical Wechaus welcome-a cold welcome.”

  “But you know that’s not true!” Maggie said. “Everynne wouldn’t destroy a planet.”

  “I know nothing of the sort!” Jagget snapped. “Everynne has told different stories on at least three different worlds. All I know about her is that she is a talented liar who seems to practice her art at every opportunity!”
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  “What will you do to her?” Maggie asked.

  Primary Jagget smiled, stroked his goatee. “I will decide once I have her in my hands.”

  Chapter 17

  Orick woke in Panta’s home. The fire in the fireplace had burned down to ashes, and he and Panta sprawled exhausted on the floor like a pair of rugs.

  The night had turned into a heavenly ordeal. Like most species of animal that mated only every few years, bears tended to try to make up for lost time. Panta had exhausted Orick after three hours, but demanded his services for two more. Orick was beginning to see that the ritual battles between male bears back on Tihrglas might have served a real purpose. The winners of such battles tended to be the males who had the most stamina, and servicing Panta had certainly tested Orick’s stamina to the limits.

  He lay staring at the female. She was beautiful—a soft, thick pelt; sensual snout; claws polished to a bright shine. Orick roused himself, went into the kitchen. A bowl of fresh fruit sat on the table, and as he helped himself, he began wondering about Maggie. He felt guilty for not following her, trying to help her. He’d let his gonads do all the thinking last night.

  Panta stirred in the other room, and he called out. “These brazen fellows that Maggie went off with—”

  “The Jaggets?”

  “Aye,” Orick said. “Where would they have her?”

  “Just about anywhere,” Panta said, padding into the kitchen. She stood in the doorway on all fours, put her front paws out and stretched seductively, her rump in the air. “There are Jaggets all over the country. Perhaps before saying where they might take her, I should ask you why they might take her.”

  Orick had already explained to Panta that he was from Tihrglas, so now he told her all about their exploits on Fale and other worlds. He had no reservations in telling her things that he might never mention to a human. Though many a bear will grow grumpy and irritable, there never was a bear with an ounce of avarice, and avarice is what led humans into so many errors.

  “If the Jaggets have taken her to keep her away from the dronon,” Panta said, “they’ll have her at one of their fortresses. It’s beyond the power of a bear to get into one of those places, and I wouldn’t try, if I were you.”

  “The poor child,” Orick said, “she’s had such a rough life, I wouldn’t want to add to her burdens. I’m worried sick over her.”

  “Perhaps your friends can help when they get here,” Panta said. Orick grunted in appreciation, and Panta licked his face.

  The door chimed. Panta went to the corner, looked out the window. “Vanquishers!” she whispered. “Stay out of sight.”

  She hurried to the door and opened it. A deep voice said, “Citizen, records indicate that you were at Flaming Springs last night.”

  “Yes,” Panta said. “I had dinner and swam with a friend.”

  “Were you there at the time of the shootings?”

  “There was a shooting?” Panta asked in mock horror. “I had no idea. I left early.”

  “It is strange how many people left early,” the vanquisher said.

  “I was only there for a short time,” Panta said. “I went only to choose a mate. It’s that time of year.”

  “Did you find someone?”

  “Yes, an old friend named Footh. He left just an hour ago. He can verify my story.”

  “We shall speak to him, citizen,” the vanquisher grumbled.

  Panta closed the door, walked swiftly back to Orick and spoke to a grill on the wall. She talked to it for several moments before Orick realized that she was talking to Footh, using little code phrases to make sure that he would verify her story.

  “Stay home,” Footh told her. “The vanquishers are all over the highways. The holovid networks say that someone carrying a Terror escaped from Fale. The vanquishers tried to arrest her here last night.”

  She thanked him, and said, “Off.” The box quit speaking. Orick had seen so many wonders over the past few days it only made sense that folks who could walk between worlds could talk to each other while miles apart.

  “Well, you heard him,” Panta said. “We need to stay inside today. We could try calling the Jaggets, ask to speak to your friend, but the dronon will be monitoring all the phones. I don’t think we can do anything until your friends get here.”

  Orick looked around the house forlornly, wondering what a simple bear could do. “The fool rushes blindly down the rocky trail, while the superior bear makes sure of his path,” Orick said, recalling the only bit of wisdom he could dredge up. “I should never have come here. I’d quit the place if I could. I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of this.”

  “You’ve made a mess of nothing,” Panta said. “Why, your friends are all over the news. They’re just as likely to get caught with you as they would have been without.”

  “That’s not true. Maggie and I stirred up a hornets’ nest, and now Gallen is going to walk through the gate and get stung. I have to fix this if I can, Panta. Once it gets dark, I have to go warn Gallen.”

  Panta watched him for a long time. “Do you really believe that this Everynne is a good person?”

  “Och, the woman’s nothing but cream, as we’d say back in Tihrglas,” Orick assured her. “I’d bet my life on it.”

  “You’re betting all of our lives on it,” Panta said.

  “I’d do that, too.”

  “Then I’ll come with you,” Panta offered. “You’ll need a cover story, and two bears out for a ride isn’t uncommon.”

  Orick smiled, and they spent the day in the house, eating what they would, frolicking when the mood took them. Panta worked for a textile company, designing prints for cloth. She showed Orick her samples, and Orick found that her art spoke to him like nothing he’d ever seen. She wove cloth in the colors of the forest, greens and grays and the shades of the sky. She wove pebbles under rushing water, sunlight streaming through leaves. Many of her patterns featured bears, cubs running through fields of tan, an old bear staring at the moon. Orick could look at the cloth, and sometimes he would hear sounds, bear voices talking, the grunting of a sow as she dug for tubers. The pictures awoke his racial memories, and when he looked at the pictures, he looked through them into the dimly recalled dreamtime of bears.

  Though Panta’s people had left the wilds, the wilds had not left her, and Orick saw that he would miss Wechaus, would miss Panta when he left.

  That night, after dark, Orick could not sleep. Gallen and the others would not drive through the gate until near dawn, but he was eager to get to the hills, prepare a message to warn Gallen.

  He paced through the house on all fours, his claws raking the hardwood floors. Finally, near midnight, Panta said, “Let’s go,” and they went to her car.

  She drove along the highway in the darkness. Once they passed a convoy of magtrucks filled with vanquishers. They appeared to be moving large numbers of soldiers. Another time they passed a roving patrol, and Orick felt nervous. He watched the snow-laden hills until he spotted the beaten path where he and Maggie had driven down from the gate. He told Panta to slow the car and lower the hood. As soon as she did, he smelled vanquishers.

  “Drop me here, then off with you,” Orick growled. He could not take a chance that she would linger near this spot-not with the vanquishers patrolling the area.

  “I’ll come back for you,” she said.

  Orick studied her profile in the darkness, and he longed to stay with her forever. “Do that,” he said. He leapt from the moving car, and Panta sped away. Orick sniffed the ground. The vanquishers had walked up the path. A cool wind drifted down from the hills, carrying their scent. Orick began stalking, his head low to the ground.

  He took nearly an hour to reach a small hilltop. The light was faint—the stars were thin here, but a fiery ring ran up the sky at the horizon, giving almost as much light as a moon. Orick looked down into the glade, smelled vanquishers for a long time before he finally spotted them.

  Three of them sat as still as stones in t
he snow, hidden beneath a white sheet, watching up a small draw. Orick was surprised to find so few of them and wondered why they kept so far from the gate. Apparently they had followed the trail a ways, saw that the airbikes had materialized from thin air, but perhaps they just couldn’t believe their luck, or maybe they did not realize that the beaten snow led to a gate opening.

  Orick watched them for awhile, studied the hills. He could see the forbidding snow-covered top of the mountain, the slopes along two arms. The problem was that he could not circle up to the gate opening without being spotted. The vanquishers had set their surveillance post here precisely because it did allow them to view the area on all sides.

  So Orick waited. Given the circumstances, he had no option but to stay through the night. When Gallen and Everynne came downhill, he could roar, warn them of the ambush, and then wade into battle. But until then, he could do nothing.

  After nearly an hour, two of the giant vanquishers stood, then headed uphill, running along a ridge. Apparently they had been redeployed. Orick decided to strike.

  He crept downhill, his feet padding through the snow. When Orick closed to within a dozen yards, the lone vanquisher turned and glanced at him for a moment, but Orick had bear-sized boulders behind him. He merely stood still in the shadows until the vanquisher turned away again.

  Orick raced over the snow, leapt at the vanquisher’s back, climbing over its shoulder to rip at its throat. The vanquisher tried to stand, raised the butt of his incendiary rifle and smashed it against Orick’s face, but Orick merely wrapped his arms around the ogre, ripping at the green skin.

  The vanquisher fired his rifle, then threw himself on the ground, and for a moment Orick rolled free. He twisted and leapt at the vanquisher, grabbing the creature’s Adam’s apple. The vanquisher unsheathed a knife and plunged it into Orick’s shoulder, slicing through tendons.