by Lyndon Hardy
Kestrel stopped and shrugged. “Of course I realize that you are all men of ethics and would not use your powers for such base gain of a few nuggets of metal.”
“You stated that the bigger the lure, then the more powerful the demon which would respond and the more able he would be to perform his special talents?” Benthon asked.
“Yes, that is the fact of it,” Kestrel said. “Why, I would imagine that a gold djinn would not even have to look. He would transform the metal out of baserock, as much as was commanded.”
Benthon’s eyes widened. He opened his purse and thrust it at Maspanar. “Then such an experiment it will be. Empty what you have into mine and we will share in whatever is gained in return.”
“I think that we proceed without sufficient caution,” Geldion said. “I am not yet satisfied with the explanation of what little we have seen transpire.”
“Then do not participate,” Benthon said. “Only those who take the risk shall benefit from the returns as well.” He turned back to Kestrel. “What would it take to fetch the likes of this gold djinn to do our bidding?”
“From what Phoebe has instructed me, I would say about eight or nine times the amount in your purse alone. And with such a demon in your power, he should be able to produce tenfold that amount in less than a day.”
“What do you say, Maspanar?” Benthon persisted. “If you decide to join, then surely the others will follow.”
Maspanar grunted, looked at Astron and then back at the dying fire in Phoebe’s cabin. He shrugged and reached for his belt. “What is the harm?” he said. “The worst that can happen is that the claim is not true. And with woman’s work, I suspect that somehow that certainly is the case.”
“But if she is correct?” one of the masters in the second row asked.
“With ten of us here, surely we can dominate whatever comes through the flames.” Maspanar shrugged a second time. “If it proves to be small, we can command it into a magic bottle for study at our leisure. If something of greater size appears, we can call forth clouds of imps on our own that will harry it until it too is subdued.”
For a moment no one moved. Then, in a flurry of jingles and flailing straps of leather, the six wizards who stood behind crowded around Benthon and added their contribution to a growing store. Finally Benthon himself held his bulging purse in front of Geldion, gently waving it to and fro.
Geldion scowled once and reached for his own pouch. Showing no pleasure, he emptied his coins in with the rest and then folded his arms across his chest.
Kestrel tried not to let his excitement show. The wizards had all come better prepared than he had dared hope. Now for a little more maneuvering and it would all be done.
“But, but your ethics,” he said. “If you get too much gold, then even the economy can be altered—just as it was on Pluton across the sea some two decades ago.”
“A wizard indeed is entrusted with a most solemn trust.” Benthon stepped forward, thumping his chest with his free hand while his sack hung heavy in the other. “Therefore, we judge the risks and take only those that are prudent.” He turned and waved back at the others. “And here our judgment is unanimous. What Phoebe has apparently discovered must be verified with all expediency. Any reward that is possible for our efforts will be administered with discretion.” He stopped and looked Kestrel in the eye. “There might even be a brandel or two for the lackey who made the process all the quicker rather than throw up objections that are of no real concern to one of his station.”
Kestrel looked down at the sack and ran his tongue over his lips. “I guess there is only one more thing to be aware of, and then my conscience is clear,” he said. “Whichever one of you actually controls the demon will have some advantage over the others. And, as Phoebe has explained it, the closer you are to the flame, the greater your chances of being the most likely to grab the demon’s will. But then, of course, the closer you are, also the greater the danger. In good faith, I recommend that you all stay outside as did the woman, rather than try to crowd around the flame inside the cabin.”
“One side,” Benthon said. “My will is the strongest and I am not afraid.”
“Wait, drop the gold here in the pond,” Kestrel said as he rapidly stepped aside. “By the scroll that lured the first demon to Phoebe. You must be between the lure and the flame for the connection to work.”
“Watch this for us, Phoebe,” Benthon said as he gathered up speed. He tossed the sack into the water. It fell with a plunk satisfying to Kestrel’s ears. “We will be back for it in a few moments, and, if you indeed are correct, for a good deal more.”
Maspanar and two more wizards followed Benthon. Then, in a mass of elbows and shoves, came the others.
“The cadence of sound for a gold djinn calls for fifteen immediate slams and then a wait of some twenty minutes for the last,” Kestrel said. “If the door is opened before then, the connection is broken and the entire effort wasted.” He looked with satisfaction as Geldion started to join the rest. Mentally he measured the strides from the pond to his waiting wagon.
“I have pondered the existence since you first mentioned it,” Astron interjected suddenly, “and I cannot think of a single example. No, I am sure of it. None in Elezar’s domain nor any of the princes who hang in the void near him have ever known of such. It is an extraordinary occurrence. I devote my life to cataloguing the mysteries and surprises of other realms and find that there is still much I cannot know of my own natural surroundings. Gold imps and even djinns of gold. Yes, it is extraordinary. There is no other word for it.”
Geldion paused in the doorway and turned around. “What did he say?” he asked. “It sounded as if he is questioning the existence of what we are about to seek. Phoebe, make him explain what he meant.”
Kestrel scowled. He ran forward and grabbed for the doorknob, blocking the wizard’s exit with his body. “There is time for that later,” he said smoothly. “Wouldn’t you rather I get the cadence started right away? You know I won’t be able to begin until you are inside and the door able to hit the jamb.”
“Phoebe, answer me,” Geldion persisted. “Stop denuding that flowerbed and answer me.”
“Go ahead and speak, Phoebe,” Astron said. “I am anxious to get things concluded as much as anyone.”
Phoebe rose slowly and turned toward Astron. “What shall I reply, master?” she said. “You have not instructed me this time as to what you wish me to say.”
“Wait a moment,” Geldion said. “Who is the master and who the slave? Maspanar, step back here for a moment. Now that I think of it, Phoebe has been acting most strangely. She should be examined at once to verify the freedom of her thought.”
“The gold djinn! Look, he comes now through the flames.” Kestrel pointed back into the cabin. It was an act of desperation, but things were unraveling fast. He pressed against Geldion’s side but the master did not yield.
“But if not Phoebe, then who is manipulating the devil?” Geldion continued as his eyes danced about the garden. He looked from Phoebe to Astron and then to Kestrel at his side. He glanced at the wet sack of gold resting on the bottom of the pond, his eyes suddenly wide. With a strength surprising for his size, he pushed through Kestrel’s restraint and staggered back into the garden. “Guardsmen,” he shouted, “guardsmen, attend at once.”
Kestrel heard the squeak of leather and rattle of steel in a clump of trees near a bend in the road a small distance from the cabin. He scowled at his bumbling, first with the demon and then not checking the environs to ensure a path of escape. Evidently at least one of the wizards was suspicious enough not to come by himself. The size of the treasure had been too great and he had dreamed too much on how it would be spent, rather than ensuring its capture.
Kestrel saw perhaps a half a dozen men-at-arms emerge from their hiding place and begin jogging toward the cabin, their swords drawn and shields rigidly in place. With a sudden surge, he pushed Geldion to the ground and bolted over his sprawling body.
In a single fluid motion he leaped to the edge of the pond and scooped out the bulging sack of gold. He glanced a second time at the approaching warriors and back at the wizards now spilling out of the cabin. It was going to be close, he thought, but, considering his mistakes, no less than he deserved.
Kestrel ran to his wagon and started to fling the sack into its interior; but as he did, a well-aimed rock cracked painfully into his shoulders, forcing him to release his grip. Like a ripe melon spewing its seeds, the wet leather pouch hit the ground and burst apart. Circles of gold flung in every direction, some rolling under the wagon and others arcing all the way back to the pond.
Kestrel bent to the ground and then hesitated. The first of the wizards was almost upon him. He would be an easy target once he crouched over. He watched the last of the coins stop their spinning and settle to the rough ground, sparkling in the sunlight. It was more than he had ever seen at one time. With an almost painful regret, he pulled himself up into the wagon, empty-handed, and grabbed for the reins.
“Block his escape! Don’t let him get away!” the wizards shouted to one another.
“We have the woman. They should be punished together.”
“A barrier across the road. Quickly before he bolts!”
Kestrel slapped the reins against the hindquarters of the horse. The wagon jumped into motion. He grabbed his whip and increased its pace, all the while looking down the road and trying to judge on which side to try to run past the converging men-at-arms. He saw the upraised hands that were grabbing the side of the wagon wrench away as he gathered speed.
The wagon surged forward and Kestrel leaned to his left, looking back over his shoulder past the covered awning toward Phoebe’s cabin. Only one wizard ran after him in labored slowness; three more were sprawled on the ground where they had fallen away. Most of the rest fluttered around the spilled sack like feasting blackbirds fighting over the coins in the sand. The last two held Phoebe in tight grips on each arm, pulling her forward uncomprehendingly toward the rest. Perhaps the demon mingled among them, but in the confusion of black robes, he could not be sure.
Kestrel’s eyes lingered on the woman. With him safely away, the wrath of the other wizards would all fall on her, even though she bore no responsibility for what had happened. He recalled his feelings when they stood together inside her cabin and then shook his head at the sudden impulse that welled up within him.
Madness, he thought. The only course was to be safely away before the men-at-arms could organize sufficiently to block him. But the impulse remained. He looked again at her blank face and remembered the sweet smiles it once bore, even when it carried her own caution.
“It may as well be three errors,” he muttered to himself as he suddenly pulled the reins to the left, circling the wagon just before the road narrowed to a single lane. Without reducing speed he raced back toward the cabin, aiming directly toward the wizards who held Phoebe in their grasp.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Would-be Sorcerer
KESTREL turned the wagon around well before the men-at-arms could reach him. He slapped the reins across the mare’s hindquarters, urging her back toward the cabin. The master who had chased him down the road immediately scrambled to the side and let him pass. The others, busily intent on scooping coins from the ground, took no heed until he was almost on top of them. Then they too scattered in a flurry of flapping robes and tinkling coins.
Kestrel aimed his wagon directly at the wizard on Phoebe’s left. As he expected, the master dropped his grip and jumped out of the way. The horse slowed and Kestrel leaned over to the side as he passed. He extended his arm around Phoebe’s waist, and she flopped against the rough planking of the wagon like a rag doll as it careened by. Even though the mare was slowing, the momentum was too great for the remaining wizard. He let go of Phoebe’s arm with a protesting cry.
With his free hand, Kestrel pulled the horse to a stop. Dropping the reins, he lifted Phoebe up beside him. Her eyes were glazed, totally oblivious to what was happening. He let her sag into a heap, then leaped from his seat onto the mare’s back and jerked the beast’s head to the left. There was too little time to back up slowly and turn.
Hoping that the front wheels had sufficient free play, Kestrel started the horse forward, pulling it to the side as much as he dared. The mare whinnied in protest and started to rear, but Kestrel kept his grip firm and kicked her onward. Stepping into the flowerbed, the horse bumped the wagon wheels over the low boundary stones that separated the garden from the walk. Stomping the small bushes and spring blooms, they barely edged by the cabin on the right, the hub of the rear wheel scraping as it passed.
Just as the wagon bumped out of the garden and back onto the path that led to the road, the men-at-arms ran forward, shield and sword arms blocking the way. Kestrel did not falter. Focusing on the shield of the man on the far left, he dug his knees into the mare’s sides. As the troops converged, he circled the horse’s neck with both arms and swung from its back in a giant arc. With feet stiffly extended, he hit the upraised shield with a jarring blow, sending the man-at-arms sprawling before he could strike.
The impact sent Kestrel swinging backward. He raised his feet as high as he could to avoid the stomping hooves of the mare, now thoroughly frightened and running as fast as it could. He saw a sword’s-length distance open between him and the men-at-arms who were nearest and then two lengths more. The warriors rallied to run after; but weighted down by shield and mail, they quickly realized that they could not keep up. In an instant, the clatter of pursuit and shouts of anger started to fade.
Kestrel clung to his precarious hold while the mare raced onward. The occasional clump of trees at the roadside grew into more frequent groves and then finally merged into the beginnings of true forest. Stately elms crowded the pathway, enfolding a canopy over Kestrel’s head. From above, the sunlight alternately burst through unabated or was totally blocked from view. A gentle breeze swirled away the dust thrown up by the wagon’s rapid passage.
Finally the mare spent her wind and slowed to a gentle walk. Listening between the hoof clops, Kestrel could hear no sound of the wizards or men-at-arms. He dropped to the ground and grabbed at the reins as they passed, pulling the horse to a stop.
Kestrel gave himself the luxury of a long deep breath. He was getting too old for such theatrics. And now he probably would have to move on to the next kingdom to practice his skills. He could not count on the shame of the masters in being outsmarted to keep his presence secret. Soon every wizard within the flight of doves would know to watch for a woodcutter and his wagon. He would have to change his tale altogether and probably target another of the five arts as well.
And what of Phoebe? She might not think that snatching her from the other wizards was much of a rescue. Of course, in her present state, she might not think much of anything. Kestrel looked up into the wagon. What was he going to do now?
Suddenly there was a movement from within the awning. A figure stirred. Kestrel dropped his jaw in surprise.
“Why did you turn back?” the demon Astron called down from where Phoebe still slumped. “Even more than the location of the lair of the gold djinns, that is the part I most want to understand. Why did you return to fetch the woman?”
Kestrel recovered his senses and shot back. “What are you doing here? How did you follow where no one else could?”
“I climbed in the back of this—this conveyance while you were pulling the female wizard in through the front,” Astron said.
“But why?” Kestrel slowly inched back from the wagon. He looked quickly up and down the tree-darkened road. He and the demon were alone. Astron looked no more menacing than he had when he had first appeared in Phoebe’s cabin with his almost human face and muted scales, but the apprehension Kestrel had felt then returned swiftly to his thoughts. And now there was no lure of gain to distract him from the risks of dealing with demonkind.
“I doubt control of my will would be that interesting,”
he said quickly. He brushed off some of the road dust from his arms and straightened his tunic and rucksack, trying to look as imposing as he possibly could. “Probably it would be better for you now to find some convenient fire and vanish back to whence you came,” he said.
“The law of dominance or submission applies only when one of my kind transits between the realms,” Astron said as he vaulted from the wagonbed to the ground. “Once I am across, there is no need to wrestle any further. I will do you no harm. Besides, there is the matter of the contract. I have yet to meet with the archimage. You have sworn on your honor to provide the means.”
“That was merely half of it,” Kestrel snapped back quickly. “I was to have received something to line my purse in exchange for my efforts. Thanks to you, I have nothing to show. The contract is balanced on both sides. We each entered the agreement with nothing and now neither is any the better because of it.”
“That is not quite so.” Astron stepped forward and opened his fist. “In the confusion that followed the bursting sack, none of the wizards seemed to mind that a demon was scurrying over the ground with them. This is perhaps not what you fully anticipated, but it is far from the nothing of which you speak.”
Kestrel looked down at the offered palm. There arrayed in a neat row were more than two dozen brandels, glinting with the light that filtered through the canopy of trees shading the road. A dozen brandels—less than he had hoped but as much as he had expected from convincing Phoebe to buy his wagonload of wood in the first place.
He reached out to grab the coins as Astron slowly tipped his hand. “This is compensation for the errors you made by speaking out, is it not?” he asked. “A settlement and then we can be on our separate ways?”
“This is payment in full,” Astron said. “I have honored my part of the bargain; now you must honor yours.”
Kestrel shook his head in disbelief. The devil was indeed serious!
Or so he professed to be. The doubt immediately followed in Kestrel’s thoughts. Honor, contracts, and trust—such things were mere abstractions. They did not really exist—not for him anyway, not since he had trusted too much and paid the price. Could it really be any different for the demon? Kestrel stared at Astron’s unblinking expression, trying to fathom the true motives that lay behind it.