Lords of the Seventh Swarm

Chapter 36

Felph stood beside Lord Karthenor aboard the dronon vessel Acquiescence, watching the viewscreens on the dome above them, the dronon cameras displaying hellish nightmares.

In one region deep in the tangle, dronon Seekers had captured Maggie’s scent, only to find that it led down a huge shaft. A giant mistwife rose up to greet the dronon, and now hundreds of dronon engaged the monster, trying to fight their way past, with no assurance that Maggie had ever escaped the monster’s grasp.

The presence of hundreds of thousands of dronon in the tangle aroused every mistwife in the region, so that on nearly every screen, the monsters hunted through the tangle, shrieking in pain, madly swatting dronon who did not fight so bravely as they did mindlessly.

Yet, for the Felph, other screens displayed far more interesting battles. Dronon Vanquishers high in the tangle were blasting through sfuz hunting parties.

The sfuz had the element of surprise. In dozens of places, the creatures boiled out of secret holes by the thousands or dropped from above or clambered around trees.

The small sfuz were no match in single battle for Vanquishers, with their thick carapaces and heavy battle arms. The sfuz died easily enough. But there were so many, so many, and they were so fast, and they were learning.

The sfuz concentrated not on direct assaults, but upon ambushes and trickery.

Dronon warriors were marching down an apparently safe path, then suddenly dropped into a pit. Another dronon stepped into a snare, went flying against a tree, his carapace cracking open like a melon. Elsewhere, a dronon battalion came upon the bodies of scouts who’d been bludgeoned by sfuz who wielded clubs.

In many battles, when a dozen sfuz suddenly dropped from a ceiling, the dronon instinctively fired their incendiary rifles-the Vanquishers’ customary ready weapon. Yet a single shot fired in these close quarters raised choking smoke from the moldering tangle smoke that strangled the dronon in minutes. Dronon lungs were less efficient than those of a sfuz or a human.

Indeed, across every monitor, the caverns had begun boiling with dark smoke. In places, dry logs burned out of control. Everywhere on the screens, dronon were choking, dying by the tens of thousands.

Felph was astonished at the carnage, dismayed to the core of his soul. Tens of thousands of troops died in sfuz attacks, yet Felph saw cameras that focused on only a sixth of the dronon forces.

Elsewhere, others were also falling prey to the sfuz.

“My god, my god,” Karthenor swore, shaking his head in dismay, the rings of his golden mantle tinkling. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

Felph shook his head, “I suspected the sfuz had a stronghold, but I never imagined …” he answered truthfully.

There were more sfuz than he’d believed possible, perhaps millions of them. He’d envisioned a battle for the city but nothing like this.

Now he saw it had been folly to imagine that he, Gallen, or anyone, would ever reach Teeawah. Folly. Utter folly.

Yet on one monitor, he saw something intriguing. A dronon contingent marched down a broad highway unlike any he’d ever seen in the tangle, and came to ancient cliffs of sculpted yellow sandstone. The dronon cameras distorted the colors, giving everything a yellowish hue, but they could not hide the thing Felph hoped to see.

There in the cliffs were holes, thousands on thousands of clooes excavated by Qualeewoohs, each a perfect dark oval.

“There! There!” Felph shouted. “There it is!”

As soon as he had said these words, monstrous black forms began wriggling from the holes, hundreds upon thousands of sfuz, hurling themselves down on the dronon, boiling from holes one after another, racing across the roof and walls of this vast cavern.

They reminded Felph of spiders, thousands of horrid black spiders seething from their lair.

The dronon troops began shooting. A firestorm ensued, tracers of white-hot plasma erupting through the dark caverns. Everywhere the sfuz were falling, burning, dying. And for a minute it looked as if the dronon would take the city. But the sfuz were too many, too many.

The camera caught images of dronon, struggling beneath dozens of dark forms, thrashing with large battle arms, firing into their own ranks. The camera’s holder had several sfuz leap on him from above, and the jumble of images that ensued showed fangs and purple blood flying, flashes of light.

Suddenly the cameraman was free again, and the dronon continued firing in a desperate attempt to drive off the sfuz. The boiling plasma that issued from the rifles burned in a thousand hot spots, white lights shining, brightening the cavern through layers of dark smoke that crept along the ground, over the ceilings.

The vast chamber was clogged with smoke. Dronon Vanquishers began pumping their legs rapidly, trying to force oxygen into the intake holes on their massive rear legs so they could breathe. The dronon cameraman tried to retreat from the killing ground, stumbled to the road, and left the camera going. Under the eerie glow of a thousand burning incendiary charges, Felph watched the fearless Vanquishers strangle beneath a roiling wall of smoke.

Felph shook his head in dismay. If the dronon die, if the dronon suffocate, the sfuz will, too, he considered.

“These holes?” Karthenor asked, pointing to the clooes on the monitor. “You’re sure these are part of the ancient city Gallen is searching for?”

“Indeed!” Felph said. “That is the place.”

Karthenor sighed heavily, gauging the damage done, the casualties of the battle, then. turned and shouted over the hum of the room. “Lord Kintiniklintit, have your forces engage the city. Gallen and Maggie may already be secreted inside.”

Lord Felph’s jaw dropped in awe. Teeawah had eluded him for six hundred years. Now he saw that it would have eluded him forever.

At this very moment, a window of opportunity opened. The dronon were liberating the city, but in a day the dronon would be gone. They’d find Maggie and Gallen and kill them, then withdraw their troops.

In only a few hours, the sfuz who’d drunk from the Waters of Strength would begin rising from the dead, once again begin defending their lair.

The sfuz that infested the ruins would return, feeding off the carnage. Felph would never again be able to mount such an intensive invasion into this region.

But today the dronon would take the city, probably never realizing what treasure they held.

Today, Felph could drink from the Waters of Strength.

“Lord Karthenor,” Felph said, “I’d like to go down to the city, now, before your troops demolish the archaeological ruins.”

Karthenor turned, studied Felph with an enigmatic smile. “You want to go there?”

“Indeed,” Felph said. “I’ve searched for the site for ages. Now I see that once your troops leave, I dare not ever return.”

“What are you searching for?” Karthenor asked. By his tone, Felph knew he suspected something. “Chances are you won’t get in or out alive. What could be worth the risk?”

The great statesman Kenrand once said, “A politician’s greatest asset is his ability to create a facile lie when confronted by constituents.” Felph hoped he was up to the task.

“I have a dozen clones who await wakening back in my palace. This body is but the raiment I wear. If it dies, I’ll put on another. But knowledge, knowledge of the philosophies of the ancient Qualeewoohs, now there is something of abiding worth!” He smiled, with just a bit of a gleam in his eye, as if he were mad. It was a role he played often, to good advantage.

Karthenor stared down at him, impassive behind his golden mask. The lord fingered his robe, nervously rubbing. the fabric between two fingers.

“Send a dronon escort with me, if you don’t trust me,” Felph said. “I have nothing to hide, and nothing to gain. I can be of no further help in this quest. I swear, you know as much about Gallen’s whereabouts as I do.”

Karthenor frowned. He wouldn’t send a guard with Felph. He was a counselor to the dronon, but apparently didn’t have the authority to order Vanquishers about. Felph had counted on that. But Karthenor did have resources. He smiled, turned to an elderly slave in a dirty tunic who wore a silver Guide. in his silvering hair. “Thomas Flynn, go with our friend here. Guard him with your life, then make certain he returns safely to me as soon as Maggie is captured.”

Karthenor pulled a heavy pistol from his own holster, tossed it to Thomas Flynn. Karthenor nodded toward a Vanquisher, spoke rapidly into a translator, ordering a shuttle for Felph’s and Thomas’s use.