Beyond the Gate (The Golden Queen) (Volume 2) (35 page)

She listened long, and realized that in the distance she could hear a sound like wind rushing through trees. But it could only have been water cascading through some underground chasm. For a while she thought of searching for the source of the sound, so that she could refill the water bags. But instead she lay still, thinking to do it in the morning, and fell asleep to the gurgling of water.

Hours later, when she wakened, Gallen and Ceravanne were just getting back. Ceravanne seemed greatly relieved, and when Tallea put her head up, Gallen explained. “We’ve been lost in a side corridor, but Ceravanne found the main road once again.”

Tallea lay back down, and Gallen went to sleep beside Maggie while Ceravanne lay beside Tallea.

Tallea closed her eyes, and lay for a long while, but something felt wrong. She looked around, counted those sleeping nearby. Everyone was there, the candles were still flickering.

She sniffed, but could feel no strange air currents. And she held her breath. Aside from the soft snoring of Orick, there was no sound.

And then it hit her: no sound. She could not hear the rushing waters. Which meant that either the underground brook had subsided in a matter of hours, or else … someone had closed off a door, masking the sound.

Tallea loosened her knife in its sheath, and lay for the rest of the long night with her eyes open, perfectly still. Once, she thought she heard a distant thud, as if someone had stubbed a foot on the floor, but there was nothing else.

Still, when Gallen woke hours later, she whispered in his ear: “Take care. We may have visitors.” And as they quietly slipped away from their resting place, Tallea listened down each side corridor for the sound of running water.

For the next few hours they hurried along down passageways that were unimpeded, past storage rooms and old quarters where thousands of people had been housed. They were entering a section of Indallian that had been far more than the mere service tunnels or mining camps found at the east entrance. This was the full-fledged city, in its ancient glory, and often they passed through huge chambers where sunlight shone down through shafts in the ceiling upon vast reflecting pools, or where wooden bedposts still sat in the musty ground, petrified.

In these areas, where ancient shafts and fire holes littered the ceiling, they had little need for Gallen’s light, and Ceravanne nearly ran through the halls, filled with a new intensity. “This district was called Westfall,” she said as they passed through one great chamber where an underground river rushed through a stone causeway, spilling out into the light. “Children used to bathe here, laughing under the icy water.”

And in the next chamber, vast brick ovens sat next to each other. “Here the bakers worked night and day, cooking loaves for the household.”

And in the next great chamber, the tallest and grandest of all, sunlight shone down through five holes in the roof, two at one end of the hall, and three at the far end. There were long reflecting pools under each light, and all along the great chamber were statues of ancient warriors lining the central hall—short, fat pikemen of the Poduni race; Tacian giants with great hammers; the tall Boonta men with long spears and their narrow shields, an army of warriors representing many nations.

And at the end of the hallway were two thrones. “And here,” Ceravanne said nervously, “is where I ruled, beside my brave Belorian.”

She stopped, and looked away shyly. Above each throne was a vast statue of marble that had once been overlaid with gold, but the images had been defaced by thieves, all of the gold chiseled away.

Maggie gasped, and rushed forward to the statues, as did each of them. The statue on the right bore the image of Ceravanne, as one would imagine she would look in a few years. But the image on the left …

“Gallen?” Maggie called, and she looked back at Gallen, horror and confusion on her face. Ceravanne strode forward, clenching Gallen’s glow globe so that the light shone from it fiercely, and she held it up to the statue.

The image was chipped and scarred. The hair had been cut shorter than Gallen’s and the bearded face belonged to an older man. But there could be no mistake: the eyes, the chin, the nose, were all Gallen’s.

“Belorian?” Maggie asked, still confused.

“When the Rodim slew him,” Ceravanne said softly, “they destroyed his memories, so that he could never be reborn with those memories intact. But they did not obliterate his body. His genome was stored, so that his seed could be propagated, undefiled.”

Tallea heard Gallen gasp. “You mean I’m—But how?”

“When the Dronon came, it was a dark time. Across the galaxy, the cry came out. ‘We need more Lord Protectors.’ And of all the Lord Protectors on our world, Belorian was judged the most worthy of cloning.

“And so, the Lady Semarritte sent technicians to our world, and they took what they needed. Seeds for the future, as they also harvested seeds from other worlds.”

Ceravanne looked up at Gallen, and there were tears in her eyes. “I do not know your circumstances, but I can guess: you were born on a backward world, much like ours. Your mother and father had no other children, and it was voiced abroad that they were desperate.”

“I never heard that,” Gallen whispered.

“I did,” Maggie countered. “My mother told me of it, when I was small.”

“And so when you were born, no one worried that you did not look too much like your mother or father, for you were a gift from heaven. And you were a smart child, bright and resourceful, strong and fiercely independent,” Ceravanne said. “That is the way it happens.

“In a time of peace, you would have become a trader, perhaps—fiercely competitive. But you were born during uneasy times.

“Gallen, it is no accident that you are a Lord Protector. Maggie told me how Veriasse found you only a few weeks ago, that he ‘chanced’ upon you in an inn. But though it is our good fortune that he found you, I suspect that little chance was involved. I suspect that he knew a seed had been planted in the town of Clere, so he sought for you in the town of your birth.

“And I am grateful that the Lady Everynne—when she learned the truth—sent you back to us, in the hour of our greatest need.”

“I am a clone?” Gallen asked, and there was still disbelief in his blue eyes.

“Ah,” Orick grunted, studying Gallen. “Now I see. The Bock never would tell us that Gallen was human!”

“He’s not—quite,” Ceravanne said. “Belorian was from a race of people called the Denars.”

“The Denars?” Gallen asked.

“A race designed to be Lord Protectors,” Ceravanne said. “The first race designed to be so. It is not by chance that your hands are quick or your mind is nimble. You were born with great gifts, and a desire to use them in the service of your fellow man.”

Gallen folded his arms and looked up at the statue for a long minute. Then he spoke to Ceravanne, and his voice was husky with resentment and accusation. “You know these corridors. You brought me here on purpose, when you could have bypassed this chamber.”

“All these past few days,” Ceravanne said softly, “the memories the Inhuman gave you have been telling you what it wants you to become. I thought it best that you find out what you are.”

“I think, rather, you are showing me what you want me to become.” Gallen grunted as if it did not matter to him at all, and nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

And Ceravanne led them from the great hall, down some long corridors. They were near the borders of the city, and now they rushed for the east gate, but a few kilometers away.

Gallen looked back once, and his eyes were full of tears, and Tallea pitied him for being a pawn in such a large game. He seemed to be running blindly, so she ran ahead of him, taking the lead in case there was danger.

They were jogging down a corridor, and entered a broad room when she smelled it—the garlicky scent of Derrits, thick as smoke.

She halted and turned, and there in the shadows, the great beasts were lying: three of them rose up on their knuckles and growled, each of them more than twice the height of a man.

“Run!” Gallen shouted, and he drew his sword. Tallea would have stood to fight beside him, but her sword was gone, and she had only a knife and her dueling trident—no weapons to pierce Derrit hide.

She rushed down the nearest passage, leading the way, with Ceravanne behind her. The Derrits lunged, their shadows dancing against the far wall. They had huge yellow eyes, and bones tied in their stringy gray hair clattered when they moved. The largest was an enormous male with dirty yellow skin and testicles as large as a stallion’s. He wore a mail shirt, woven from bits of chain mail taken from a dozen human warriors, and he grabbed a massive door to use as a shield. In his other hand, he took an ancient halberd. He roared and charged, and Orick stood beside Gallen and rose on his hind legs. The two of them looked like children, hoping to withstand the monster.

And Tallea stopped and rushed to Gallen’s side. Her Caldurian blood called her, and she could not leave friends in need.

Ceravanne and Maggie needed no urging to run, yet they did not go far—merely crossed the room, then stopped and turned. Ceravanne crushed the glow globe in her hand, squeezing it tighter and tighter, so that its light shone fiercely. Tallea admired the woman’s bravery, for the Tharrin had no protection, and she held the light up only to aid the warriors.

The Derrits howled in pain, and raised their hands to shield their eyes, their pointed yellow teeth flashing. The huge male raised his shield, protecting his eyes. They were a shifting mass, acting as if they would charge, and Tallea dared not turn her back on them. She pulled her dagger and dueling trident, held one in each hand. They were small weapons, hardly big enough to do much damage, but she’d honed them as sharp as steel can be.

The male Derrit roared and surged forward, using his shield to slap Orick aside. The bear went flying like a doll, yelping in pain, and tumbled past Tallea. The male raised his halberd to strike, as if it were a hatchet, and Gallen danced in, struck the giant under the rib cage, and rolled away, his sword dripping blood.

The Derrit swung wide, slamming the halberd into the stone floor so hard that the weapon shattered. The Derrit raised his head and howled at the roof, never taking his amber eyes from Gallen, and swung his shield at Tallea. She ducked under its blow, felt the huge door whistle over her head, and knew that if she’d been hit, the blow would have shattered every bone in her body.

The Derrit howled again, and he must have spoken some command to the others, for the two smaller females rushed out from under his shadow. One of them lunged toward Orick, while the other tried to circle around Gallen, heading toward Ceravanne.

At the same time, the big male roared and leapt for Gallen, swinging the broken haft of the halberd like a club.

And in that moment, time seemed to stop. Tallea could see Orick on the floor, dazed, seconds from death at the teeth of a Derrit. Gallen was swinging madly, slashing open the snout of the big male as it lunged in to bite. The female on the far side of the room, rushing forward on her knuckles, headed toward Ceravanne and Maggie.

And in that moment, Tallea had to decide who she might save. Her little knife and trident were feeble weapons, but they were all she had. Ceravanne was on the far side of the room, and Tallea had served her poorly once before. Her heart was torn—Ceravanne or Orick? She could not make that choice. So she only prayed that she could fight swiftly enough to save them both.

The Derrit grabbed Orick in her claws and pulled him forward with both arms, ready to sink her teeth into him. With a war cry, Tallea leapt onto her broad snout, sinking her trident into the giant’s forehead to use as an anchor, then stabbed the big female in the eye—once, twice.

Blood gushed from the creature’s torn eyelids, and the Derrit shoved Tallea away, knocking her across the room, and Tallea lost her trident, leaving it stuck in the monster’s head.

There was a fierce tearing pain from the old wound in Tallea’s side when she hit the floor, and she rolled to her knees.

Ceravanne began shouting, waving the light, and Tallea looked up, saw the other female Derrit hesitate not three meters from Ceravanne, pawing the air with one hand, shielding her eyes with the other. Ceravanne, though she lacked all skill in weaponry, also found it impossible to leave a friend in need.

Gallen had slashed the big male across the belly and one arm. The Derrit was a bloody mess, but still had some good fight in him. He was swinging his shield with both hands now. The Derrit’s solitary lifestyle showed itself in the creature’s poor fighting form.

The little female that Tallea had wounded began to shriek, and Tallea looked over in surprise to see Orick wrapped around her left leg. He was biting her, ripping her leg into shreds while she tried to pry him off and escape.

“Run!” Gallen said, looking right at Tallea. “Take Maggie to safety!”

Tallea got up, felt as if some ribs had snapped. She ran toward Ceravanne and Maggie, screaming a battle cry, and the female Derrit who’d cornered the women took an experimental grab at Ceravanne, her long yellow hands darting forward.

Tallea rushed up to the Derrit, grabbed a handful of hair near the Derrit’s short tail, and drove her knife deeply into the Derrit’s thigh, just below her left leg, trying to hit the femoral artery.

Tallea pulled her knife out, and though her blade had not made a deep cut, it was a painful one. The Derrit shrieked and lurched away.

The Derrit struggled to turn, hoping to throw Tallea off, but Tallea thrust the knife in again and again. The Derrit screamed in fear, released some acrid-smelling urine, then turned and fled, rushing toward Gallen’s back.

Tallea could not hold the female Derrit from attack, but she dung to her, slowing her down for a moment. Tallea shouted for Gallen, then drove her blade deep into the back of the Derrit’s knee, hoping to cripple her, and then Tallea lost her grasp on the monster and fell.

Tallea looked, and Gallen was swinging at the big male. With a mighty blow he leapt forward and slashed it across the forehead, seemingly unaware of the female rushing in behind, then suddenly he danced to the side, and swung a terrible blow at her leg.