“Exactly,” Gallen said. “When you switch bodies, every muscle and bone is different in size and shape. It takes years for your brain to acclimate to those changes. I don’t have years. If I got myself downloaded into a clone tomorrow, I’d just get killed.
“But even if I could get a new body, I doubt that if I made such a major change, the dronon would allow me to fight. Veriasse considered rebuilding himself, but my mantle tells me he wisely chose against it. The dronon might see my genetic enhancements as weapons, unlawful for use in unarmed combat.”
“But that hasn’t stopped Kintiniklintit from fighting in the arena,” Orick countered.
“Kintiniklintit isn’t human,” Gallen said. “You know how reluctant the dronon were to let me fight in the first place. The same rules don’t apply to us that apply to them.”
Orick lay on the sandy ground and put his chin on his paws. He had never even imagined downloading Gallen into another body, yet everyone else around him had given the plan considerable deliberation.
“So there’s nothing you can do to better your odds,” Orick grumbled in such a tone that he let Gallen recognize that he, too, could see the futility of this plan.
“No,” Gallen said. “No stratagem I can come up with. Their exoskeletons are too thick. They fly too quickly. But, Orick, Orick, before you argue too strongly against fighting back, consider this: right now, I have defeated only the Lords of the Sixth Swarm. Six other lords want to fight me, but you also must recognize that they almost never challenge one another. Have you asked yourself why?”
“It’s not worth the trouble,” Orick said. “You don’t fight someone that tough if you don’t have to.”
“Precisely,” Gallen said. “I beat the Lords of the Sixth Swarm, but I didn’t do the job convincingly. The other dronon Lords see my victory as a fluke, a performance that is not likely to be repeated. But what if I did win again? What if I killed Kintiniklintit, and I did it convincingly?”
“So you think that if you kill him, the rest of the dronon Lords will shy away from fighting you in the future?”
“Exactly,” Gallen said. “The dronon have chosen this form of succession by nature. It seems right to them to fight for control. Their inherited behaviors, their sense of what is right, won’t allow them to explore any other method of succession. But the dronon aren’t stupid. The young Golden Queens don’t simply rush into battle when they attain their mature colors. They watch the Lords of the Swarm and consider and plot, often for decades. So long as the Lords of the Swarm appear strong, younger goldens don’t attack. According to my mantle, some Golden Queens live their entire lives without seeking to take control of the hive.”
“So you hope that if you can beat Kintiniklintit, the dronon might leave you alone?” Orick said, warily.
“I hope so,” Gallen said. “I have to believe there is something we can do. I have to believe that through strength and speed, and wit, and skill, and sheer force of will l can transcend this problem. The dronon are beatable. I’ve proven that. But even Maggie doesn’t really believe I can whip them a second time. I know I can. I can, and I will. But I can’t discuss this with Maggie now. She’s not ready to fight. She’s too frightened—she can’t even sleep because of the nightmares.” He looked off toward the ship, and there was worry in Gallen’s eye. Maggie was falling apart.
“Transcend the dronon then—” Orick said, “transcend your enemies. But don’t play their game. Don’t think that just because you learn to toss them two throws out of three, that you’ve won the war. They’ll come back and kill you for it. Even if you could beat Kintiniklintit, even if you killed every one of them, you’d lose your decency. Forget about them. You’ve fought them all you can, Gallen. Let someone else take up the sword. Forgive the dronon and everyone like them.”
“Orick,” Gallen said, shaking his head, “what does that accomplish? If we ignore evil, it will simply thump us on the head until we pay attention to it.”
Orick said, “I have a question for you: did David slay Goliath, or did God?” Gallen considered a long moment. “Are you saying that if I ignore the dronon, God will fight them? Even you don’t believe that!”
“Is anything too hard for the Lord?” Orick whispered, and he knew in that moment, though for his whole life he had fought the doubts, he did believe it. Gallen drew a surprised breath and stepped back. “Orick, I think maybe you should become a priest after all.”
Orick wasn’t sure what Gallen meant by that. Orick had considered leaving Gallen to study for the priesthood many times. Perhaps, Orick thought, this was a fight—the first fight they’d had—and Gallen was telling Orick that the time had come for Orick to leave. But no, Gallen spoke with a tone of both surprise and reverence. In the past, he’d always seemed amused by Orick’s interest in the priesthood. Now Gallen seemed astonished by it, and he took it seriously. Gallen was simply acknowledging a side of Orick that he’d never really appreciated. Orick said softly, “I would that all men were priests, devoting themselves to God.”
Gallen studied Orick, perplexed. “I … I’ll consider what you’ve said.”
Gallen reached down absently and ruffled Tallea’s fur, patting her snout. He was lost in thought as he stalked off back into the ship, his black robes flowing out behind him, his head bent. The doors to the ship closed off quickly as he entered, swallowing him.
Tallea watched him leave, then grumbled, “I wish he wouldn’t do that!”
“Do what?” Orick asked.
“Pat my nose like I was some damned hunting hound!”
Orick stared at her, his mouth opened in surprise. He always liked it when humans patted his snout or scratched behind his ear.
“I was a grown woman, swinging a sword in battle, before he ever got out of diapers!” Tallea said, then she growled in disgust, a throaty rumble.
“Gallen’s a good lad. It’s not disrespect he’s showing you,” Orick apologized.
Tallea shook her dark head, wagging it broadly from side to side, and she was so angry that tears formed in her eyes. She turned and began heading into the ship.
“Really,” Orick said, “he’s just being affectionate!”
“Well maybe I don’t want his affection!” Tallea said, turning on him so fast that Orick thought she’d bite him.
“Halloo there,” Orick said. “You don’t have to act like you’ve got a tick on your butt. What’s eating you?”
“What’s eating me?” Tallea asked. “Nothing—Everything!”
“Everything? Really? Everything?” Orick said. It was true that they didn’t have a home, that the dronon were chasing them, that they were camped for the night on an alien world filled with monsters. But far from everything was wrong. At least they were alive.
“You—this is not what I had planned …” Tallea said in exasperation. “I didn’t come here to be patted like a dog, and have people making fun of my clumsiness!”
She spun and bolted for the ship; the door hardly had time to whisk open before she reached it. Orick hurried after her, unsure why she’d broken into tears.
Tallea ran into her stateroom, jumped up on the bed. The door to her room began to slide closed in front of Orick’s nose. Tallea shouted, “Lock!” but Orick leapt through before the door shut. The lock snicked into place behind him.
Tallea made whining noises, little barks, as bears will when they cry, and she turned her back.
“Well now,” Orick said, climbing up on the bed, nuzzling her ear with his snout. He licked it just a bit. “Sure, it must be hard to go from being human to being a bear, but you always struck me as a woman who was mostly gristle and sinew. All good things have their price. At least you’re not one of those funny-looking human varmints without any hair anymore …” He hoped she’d laugh, but Tallea just sniffled.
Orick let the silence stretch uncomfortably, until at last Tallea said, “Did I make a mistake, Orick?”
“A mistake? How could it be wrong for a human to finally get a pelt
like the rest of the mammals?”
Tallea snickered, turned her brown eyes to him. There were tears in them. “Did I misunderstand something, Orick? I thought you loved me.”
“Well … I do!” Orick protested. “How could I not love you?”
“I thought you would love me—in the same way a man loves his wife.” The sentence was clipped, the words uninflected, yet Orick knew there was a depth of emotion hidden beneath those words. He licked her ears gently with his broad tongue.
“Is it a formal proposal of marriage you’re wanting?” Orick asked. He knew she did. It wasn’t decent to keep a woman waiting—especially when it was obvious she loved him, that she’d chosen to live as a bear solely so they could be together. It was a strange alliance they had formed on Tremonthin—the Caldurian warrior and the bear, fighting in the caverns beneath the Hollow Hills. By nature Caldurians bonded to those they protected, and that bonding was arguably a form of love. But Orick had never imagined she would bond to him, nor that after she gave her life in his service, she would ask the Lords of Tremonthin to place her memories into the flesh of a bear. Such a sacrifice.
Orick had always wished to find a she-bear who would love him as truly as he could love her—a she-bear whose affections would remain steady even after she was no longer in heat. Tallea had asked the Lords of Tremonthin to tailor her body so she could fulfill Orick’s dream.
The thing is, that while Orick had always dreamed of love, he didn’t quite know how to manage the little things—like how to talk about all the important things he and Tallea needed to discuss.
Tallea sighed. “I don’t need a marriage proposal. By becoming a bear, I think I’ve already made the proposal myself. l just need to know if you accept me.”
Orick’s heart pounded. This was the moment he’d feared. He didn’t quite know how to tell her that he’d long considered a career in the priesthood, that her show of devotion was both totally unexpected and somewhat troubling. “I care for you …” he tried to ease into the topic.
“If you love me, then why don’t you make love to me?” Tallea said. “I’ve been a bear for months!”
Orick gaped in surprise, then sniffed the air. “You … are you in heat?” he gawked, wondering if his nose was plugged.
“No!” Tallea said, perhaps even more shocked than Orick. “Is that what you’ve been waiting for?”
“You mean—you would do it even when you’re not in heat?” Orick shouted. He’d never heard such an outrageous proposal, never even considered the possibility. Sure, humans did it that way, but they were an aberration in the animal kingdom. Right-thinking bears would never—
“Yes,” Tallea said, turning suddenly to face him full. “Yes, please, yes! Take me now!” she growled with such desire in that throaty rumbling that Orick could hardly imagine it.
“But … but I’ve taken a vow of chastity!” Orick said, blurting the first objection that came to mind. It was true. Though he’d never made the vow to proper priesthood authorities, he had indeed made that vow to God in his heart.
Tallea cried, “Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”
“I promised myself to God’s service,” Orick said. “Never thinking—I mean it was before I met you.”
Orick looked at the poor she-bear. If he kept to this course, it would prove a tragedy for Tallea of epic consequences. He didn’t want to hurt her, but for now, he was still unresolved as to his course of action. He wanted to serve God, but to be truthful, in the past he had found that when a she-bear was in heat, the temptation had been more than he could easily endure. He wasn’t good at maintaining his vow of chastity, but with each successive failure, he became more determined to keep to it.
“So you can’t serve God and me?” Tallea asked.
“No man can serve two masters,” Orick said, and then suddenly realized that she would not understand the allusion. Tallea was a heathen who’d never heard of Christ or his gospel. “The Son of God said that.”
Tallea studied him. “He was right. Every Caldurian warrior knows that he or she can only be bound to one master.” Tallea considered his words. “So you’ve decided? You will not bind yourself to me?”
Orick had seldom found himself wedged into so tight a crevice. If he told her that he was undecided, that during every passing hour of the past few months that question had been foremost in his mind, yet he was still vacillating, then he might find himself voicing words that would only give her unrealistic hopes. At the same time, it would be equally unfair to the both of them if he told her that he had decided against her. For it was untrue. “Give me some time. I love you as a friend already, a true friend. But you chose me without warning. This all came so suddenly.”
“I see.” The warmth had all gone from her voice. After a long moment, she whispered, “Orick, as far as bears go, am I attractive?”
Orick looked into her eyes, which sparkled under the ship’s lights. Her fur was dark and glossy, her nails long and black. She was, in fact, one of the most beautiful she-bears he’d ever met, and once she went into heat, Orick imagined that every bear on Tihrglas would fight for the chance to be her mate. What she did not know was that as a juvenile, those looks did not matter. It was scent that excited Orick, not her lusty appearance.
“Indeed, you are fair, my love, more beautiful than the mountains of Tirzah.”
“Good,” Tallea said, then she yawned and stretched, lowering her head, arching her back so that her tail raised seductively in the air. Orick doubted that she had ever seen a female take the mating position, but she did it now quite naturally, then came and licked Orick once on the mouth. “Very good,” she whispered, “and good night to you.” Though it was not yet dark here on Ruin, Orick and the others were still running on ship time, and he indeed felt weary. Apparently Tallea, like Maggie, had decided to keep to the ship’s schedule.
She sent him from her room. Orick padded back outside, somewhat glad for the fresh air, where he lay on the ground thinking of that last inviting look she’d given him. For a moment, when speaking to Gallen, he’d felt as if he were truly a priest, speaking under the power of inspiration. Now he felt miserable, and he lay wondering how he would ever be able to spurn such a lovely creature once she went into estrus.
It was with these thoughts in mind that Orick was disturbed by the sound of flapping wings. He looked up to see the oddest creature soaring over the desert—a winged man, who soon landed at Orick’s feet, with a fascinating invitation for dinner.
Chapter 3
Lord Felph found himself muttering under his breath as he made his way down a long stone staircase to a tiny room on the lower levels of his palace.
Felph’s heavy robes dragged behind him on the staircase as he walked, and the cool air here in the tunnels chilled the bald spot on his head and his long, pale fingers. The dark sun shone thin and red through the oval, open windows along the staircase, windows that had long ago been carved by Qualeewoohs while digging their cloo holes.
Indeed, the lower lip of each window was worn from the feet of Qualeewoohs who had nested here over the millennia, wearing the oval portals into irregular shapes. Felph had had his droids clear away all the old nesting sites centuries ago, convert the nesting cells into passageways and chambers for his citadel. Most of the palace now showed no sign that Qualeewoohs had ever lived in this mountain. Only here, in the very western wing, did the anachronistic sites still exist.
Felph hated the old reminders. Perhaps that is why his daughter chose to live down here.
Once, Felph stopped to rest, breathing raggedly from exertion, and stared out one crumbled window to the sheer cliffs of the redrock mountains stretching out around him. The sky above held no clouds, yet the distant dark sun gave only muted light. In the valleys far below, at the base of the slopes, peculiar oily gray trees grew in an impenetrable tangle, and, as Felph watched, a flock of a dozen black-winged skogs leapt from the brush and began winging their way with bulletlike speed toward one of the gar
den ponds on the palace grounds.
Felph finished resting, but his heart still raced as he reached the bottom of the stairs, then knocked timidly at a wooden door which swung halfway open at his touch.
The weaver woman was inside, as usual, sitting before her great loom in a rocking chair that tilted away from the window. The frame of the loom was massive, spanning floor to ceiling along the far wall. The left wall was covered with bobbins of narrow yarn in a thousand colors of the rainbow, each in its place, each in a hue so subtly different that Felph could hardly distinguish one bobbin’s shade from its neighbor’s. The beveled glass from the window, which was cut in a starburst pattern, cast fractured rays of red light over the room, limning the weaver’s silver hair, illuminating her work. She wore her hair in small braids that cascaded casually down her back. A twisted net of gold chains, like a crown, gleamed dully on her brow, and she wore a simple but elegant shift of purest white. Over her bosom was a small vest of twisted wheat-colored fiber, a pretty thing woven by her own strong fingers.
Her back was turned to him, and she sat at her loom working the treadle with eyes closed, as always, weaving colorful scenes into a great tapestry. Her hands moved reverently through the wool as she worked a reed, beating the filling yarns into place to create her tapestry, yet the tapestry lay sprawled upon the floor near her feet, as if discarded. It was the making of the thing, not the completed product, that the woman enjoyed, for she was weaving images of things that would shortly come to pass, and the tapestry held the only record she kept of her prophecies.
Felph’s mouth felt dry; his hands trembled as he held the door to keep it from swinging all the way inward, and he did not want to look at the tapestry, did not want to be here speaking to the weaver now, but the sunlight shone upon the scarlet scene she was creating, and woven onto a colorful background patina of stones was an image of Felph himself, lying in a puddle of his own gore, his throat slashed, while over him stood his glorious son Zeus—a young man of stocky build and gray, brooding eyes—exultant as he held a bloodied knife up toward the dark sun.
Lords of the Seventh Swarm Page 3
