Nothing more. Nothing thereafter.
I’ve died, he decided. I’ve died, and Felph brought me back.
Beside the bed on a chair lay his cothes-a new white tunic, with the black robes of a Lord Protector folded neatly beneath and under them all, his battle gloves. To the back of the chair were strapped his weapons-the vibro-blade in its sheath, his incendiary rifle in its holster. At the foot of the chair lay his boots, black and polished.
All the clothes seemed too clean, too fresh.
Gallen got up, examined himself. He felt … odd. He pulled on the white tunic, wondering what kind of world he’d awakened to. What now, now that the dronon had won? Which worlds would resist the dronon rule; which would succomb? Worst of all, who would embrace the dronon?
Obviously, the dronon had begun building their own world gates, sending ships through. Otherwise, they could not have reached him here on Ruin, not so fast. It had only been a matter of time before the dronon developed such technology. Now all the human-occupied worlds would be within the dronon’s grasp.
But what of Maggie?
If I died, Gallen feared, then she must be dead too. He’d been so close to her hiding place when the dronon took him. They’d have found her.
It takes six weeks to grow a clone, Gallen realized. She’s been dead for six weeks. And Maggie had never had her memories recorded. She was dead, and would remain so forever.
Gallen did not want to live under dronon rule, in a world without Maggie.
Though he could not bear the thought of living without her, Gallen knew he would go on. He would fight. He’d continue fighting, and fighting. A hundred lifetimes, a thousand.
So the struggle continues. He felt heartsick. Perhaps already, a new Lord Protector from the human worlds had defeated Kintiniklintit. Someone would have to step into the role. Gallen did not envy that person.
Gallen stood a moment, slipped on his new tunic. A new tunic they give me, he realized, because the other is torn and bloody. He gazed down at the chair. Beneath the tunic lay his mantle-the black rings polished and free of rust, the memory crystals gleaming wildly. A small thing, so beautiful-yet so powerful.
He picked it up, turned it over and over in his hand. Should I put it on?
He did not want to. Orick had criticized him for his hardness, for his willingness to take on every battle, for his desire to right all wrongs.
Balance and perspective. He’d lost that once. Perhaps because he’d lost it, he’d lost Maggie in the bargain.
Though the mantle brought him power, it did so at too high a price.
Gallen sat back on the bed, hung his head, and wept.
It was a long hour later when he felt well enough to put on the rest of his clothes, slipping the mantle into the pocket of his robe.
He wondered where Orick might be, if at least the bear had come out of the tangle alive. He doubted it. Crick would have fought the dronon when they came for Maggie, Gallen thought.
So Orick would be dead, too.
Did Lord Felph revive Gallen simply to finish his quest, to go back in search of the Waters of Strength? Possibly so. A job left undone.
A meaningless job.
It seemed unfair.
Gallen got up, stretched, and looked out his window. He recognized this wing of the palace. The north wing. The rose gardens lay beneath him, the great peacock fountain glistening black on a small hill among the throng of rosessapphire and peach, flame and saffron.
Though rain pummeled the windows, he considered going out for a walk. No, for a rose. A blood-red rose. Something beautiful, that you can touch and smell and hold.
He stood watching the gray clouds sweep over the valley in waves. The roses seemed to beckon him, the golden ones a remainder of sunshine among the deep gray.
As he stood gazing out the window, they came to him.
The great wooden doors behind him swung open, and Maggie swept in, ran across the room, and as he turned, she leapt into his arms, hugging him, kissing his eyelids, his forehead, his lips.
She tasted the same as ever, her lips so sweet. She smiled hugely, weeping for joy. “You’re awake. You’re awake. It’s been days!”
Nothing had changed about her. Her eyes sparkled when she looked at him; her womb seemed a little larger, a little more full. Gallen stared at her face in wonder, holding her head in the palm of his hand, wanting to kiss her, wanting to just hold her in his sight.
Orick and Tallea bounded in behind Maggie, and the bears kindly kept their distance, staring up at Gallen shyly.
Like a floodgate, the questions poured from Gallen. Maggie and Orick told a story that was remarkable-as joyous as it was improbable.
“How did I die?” Gallen asked, hoping he had died well.
“You didn’t,” Maggie said. “You were wounded by the dronon, wounded so badly, we carried you to the battlefield here before the palace. We fought Kintiniklintit, and just when we thought all was lost, the Qualeewoohs came and saved us-Cooharah and Aaw.”
“The Qualeewoohs?” Gallen asked. “Saved us. How?”
Orick said, “The Qualeewoohs you freed, they came back to pay for Herm’s life-to give their lives for the one they took. They challenged Cintkin and Kintiniklintit for Right of Charn.”
Gallen listened to him, incredulous. He could recall nothing-no battle, no ride to the palace.
“Don’t you remember anything?” Maggie asked. Gallen shook his head.
Maggie said, “The battles were magnificent. The Qualeewoohs fly twice as fast as dronon, and they fight in pairs, while the Lord Escorts must stand up to them alone.
The thunderstorms swept in just as the battle began, bringing in a heavy mist and fog. Kintiniklintit never knew what hit him. The Qualeewoohs attacked from behind, like starlings harrying a crow, and drove him into the sky. He spit acid, but the Qualeewoohs wheeled and spun at such dizzying speeds, he never fazed them. When he got high enough, they ripped his wings so he tumbled to earth. His head split under the impact of the fall. Then they went after the Golden Queen, marked her with their talons.”
“I saw this?” Gallen asked.
Maggie nodded, so calm, so self-assured. Of course it had happened. Gallen recalled the Qualeewoohs from the wild, so beautiful, regal, faintly ridiculous in their spirit masks.
Lord Felph had discounted them, thinking them nothing, impotent. But the predators on this world moved so swiftly, had evolved so differently from antthing on Earth-or on dronon-that in aerial combat, the Qualeewoohs had distinct advantages. No, Gallen didn’t doubt that the Qualeewoohs could have won. He only doubted that he could have seen any such thing and forgotten so completely.
“I-don’t remember anything like it,” Gallen said.
Maggie smiled at him gently. “You were delirious. The dronon beat you so badly. Perhaps the memories will come back in time.” She reached up, stroked his face. “And Gallen, there’s more.
“The Qualeewoohs challenged the lords of the other five swarms, defeated each in turn, humiliated them.”
Gallen could not believe it. It seemed a dream come true, too good to be real. He looked to Orick for confirmation.
“It’s true, lad. The dronon have fallen and shall never rise again. The Qualeewoohs won control, and Aaw has commanded the dronon to return to their home world, and never leave again. She’s destroying their world gates, removing all records of the technology, Yet she’s done more.
“The Qualeewoohs are painting spirit masks on all the dronon. They don’t believe that the dronon have a total lack of compassion. The Qualeewoohs hope someday to train them, to prepare them to join the rest of the galaxy in peace. They’ll never trouble us again.”
Gallen looked at them all, suspicious. He found the whole story so implausible, he didn’t know how to respond.