Riddle of the Seven Realms

by Lyndon Hardy

  “You know full well,” Phoebe said. “For the length of this headlong flight, I have been chattering away, telling you everything about myself that came to mind. Perhaps it took my thoughts from what would happen if we are caught, but I have said much nonetheless.”

  “I did not wish it otherwise,” Kestrel said. “If you suspect that I was bored but just being polite, put your mind at ease. I enjoy your company.”

  “And so about the wizard you can now recite volumes,” Phoebe continued. “About the woodcutter, what can be said other than that he indeed did at one time chop some trees?”

  Kestrel slumped over the reins, wishing the entry hut all the closer. Mixed with everything else, he felt an onrush of discomfort. It was not enough that he refrain from further deception. Phoebe wanted more. She was asking no less than that he reveal things that long ago he had vowed never to share again.

  “I can be only one of many possibilities,” he said while continuing to look straight ahead. “Why me and not some other? One more suited to your station.”

  Phoebe tightened her grip on Kestrel’s arm and pulled herself closer to him. “It gets to be lonely in the cabin of a wizard,” she said. “Lonelier than you might otherwise believe. And at first, I admit my thoughts were for a brief interlude. You appeared far better than most that I had seen in the past year.

  “But there was something else,” she said. “Something I saw behind the eyes of one who professed to be a simple woodcutter.”

  “Do not probe too deeply,” Kestrel said. “You might not like what you will find.”

  “No, my first impression has been confirmed.” Phoebe reached up and turned Kestrel’s face to hers. “I saw the excitement when you explained to me how we would cross the border. I witnessed the swordsman rushing to defend when he was outnumbered two to one. There is perhaps more to Kestrel the woodcutter than he dares admit even to himself.”

  “Does not the ritual prescribe that the male pursues and the female demurs?” Astron poked his head out from under the wagon’s canopy. “Or does the fact that the woman is the one that wears the logo of a wizard alter that? It is no wonder there is so much anguish and confusion in the matter. The variations are too many for one to keep track of them all.”

  Phoebe pulled back her arms, like a child caught in the fruit larder. She frowned at Astron as she dropped her hands to her lap. Kestrel felt a wave of relief and then a twinge of annoyance. He could work out his feelings without any help from the demon.

  He darted a glance at Phoebe. No, perhaps it was best that Astron had come forward. What he would have said if he were forced to answer at this moment he did not know. A silence descended on the three. For the rest of the distance to the entry hut no one spoke.

  When they arrived, Kestrel glanced over his shoulder and then back to Astron. The demon shook his head, indicating that he detected nothing. Kestrel vaulted from the wagon and into the hut. Soon all three stood facing an ancient page, bald-pated with splotchy skin, sitting behind a high desk. His folded hands rested on a huge appointment book bound in gilded leather.

  Kestrel returned the page’s stare and glanced quickly about the small room, trying to seize on the story that would get them immediately to the archimage.

  “Elezar,” Astron said before anyone else could speak. “I have a message from Prince Elezar for the archimage that should be heard at once.”

  The page looked at Astron through half-closed eyes. He leafed through the pages to the very front of the book and scanned a list of names. “Elezar,” the page repeated, “Elezar.” Suddenly he stopped and his eyes opened wide. “Ah, exactly what is the—the nature of this prince?”

  “He is a demon,” Astron said. “A mighty ruler of over a hundred djinns.”

  The attitude of the page immediately shifted from bored indifference to obsequious concern. He climbed from his high stool and motioned the trio to follow.

  “It is the foremost of the archimage’s instructions,” he said. “Certain visitors are to receive priority over the others who come asking no more than a boon. But above all else, master Alodar has written that he is to be interrupted on any news of Elezar the demon in the realm of men. Quickly, follow me.”

  In a moment’s time, they were across the courtyard to the house of stone and ushered into a large library, brimming with scrolls and books of crackling parchment. A ladder was propped on each of the four walls to reach shelves that stood beyond the grasp of the tallest man. Three round tables were also covered with piles of paper. On a fourth stood a bubbling retort and convoluted paths of glass tubing. A model of a crane and small blocks occupied the fifth, next to a clump of bar magnets and needles of steel. Next to it, the light of a single candle worked its way through tiny slits and a series of lenses that alternately expanded and contracted its radiance.

  Kestrel noticed Astron’s membranes flick down when he saw all of the books. After the page left to find the archimage, the demon stood motionless for a long while. Then slowly, with a delicate reverence, he approached the closest table, reached out and touched the gilt letters that spelled “Practical Thaumaturgy” on the volume on top. Suddenly oblivious to the reason they had come, the demon gently opened the cover and stared at the pen-strokes on the first page.

  A doorway deeper into the interior of the cottage clicked softly. Kestrel turned to see who entered. His face stiffened in surprise.

  “We are manipulants of the skyskirr,” said the first of four thin beings who filed into the library. “We understand the astonishment that shows on your face. Many of the strange happenings of your realm affect us in a similar way. Be at peace. All that comes to pass is guided by the great right hand.”

  Kestrel shook his head. Astron looked almost human. The imps that had been captured in the bottle were no more than gross copies of a normally shaped child. But these four were distinctly alien, unlike anyone else he had ever seen. They were tall and slender, impossibly thin for a man. Large, puffy lips protruded from faces of bony gray planes. Primitive jewelry hung from ears and noses. Each wore a simple loincloth coiled about his hips.

  “You too are djinns from Astron’s realm?” Kestrel asked. He backed into one of the ladders and pulled Phoebe protectively to his side.

  “No, we are skyskirr,” the first repeated. “On our lithons we sail through the ’hedron’s sky. The wind whistles with our passage. With graceful arabesques, we circle the larger stones and from them scavenge what the great right hand provides.

  “Our realm is self-contained, as distinct from that of the demons as you judge yours to be. We must use the might of a djinn and the intermediary of the flame to travel from our universe to here.”

  Kestrel ran his hand over his mouth. Not from the realm of demons but elsewhere beyond the flame, he thought. He glanced quickly at Astron. Yes, other realms, just as the demon had said.

  “Besides those of men and demons there is a third?” Phoebe asked. “I have heard whispers of such a thing and of metalaws behind those that we know so well.”

  “Indeed, it is true,” the first skyskirr said. “For us the laws of magic are different; we, in fact, change them all the time. Our visit here and now is to see if your thaumaturgy is a craft that will be useful besides the ones we already know.”

  “Of course, there are consequences in any such venture,” the third suddenly said. “Perhaps it was the intent of the great right hand that such knowledge we were not meant to possess.” The skyskirr pounded a shovel he was carrying against the floor and then touched the blade to the chest of the fourth, who slumped almost hidden behind the other three.

  Kestrel looked at the last skyskirr for the first time. The deep-set eyes seemed not to focus but dart almost independently about the room. A thick drool ran from one corner of his mouth. With his hands, he picked at his loincloth, removing small pieces of lint that were not really there.

  “Mortonzel has seen too much of gently curving horizons,” the third skyskirr continued. “He has felt for too
long the oppressive pull of the great lithon that binds all of you humans. Only occasionally are there winds to caress the full length of his hair.” He turned and poked with the blade of his shovel at the chest of the first. “Now even the archimage dismisses us for something he says is of greater importance. It is a sign of the great right hand, I say. Let us begone. I feel the sickness of mind beginning to bubble within me as well. Build the flame, Purdanel, and summon the djinn that will return us to whence we came.”

  Purdanel looked quickly at the second skyskirr and then around the room. For a moment his eyes rested on Astron, who was slowly turning the pages of the book. “You may have the volume,” he said. “It was to be a gift from the archimage but I think it will provide no value in the realm where the lithons fly.”

  Without waiting for an answer he grunted and pounded his own shovel twice against the floor. Purposefully, he marched out of the room. The other three skyskirr followed, the last being gently led.

  Kestrel shook his head again. Lithons, the great right hand, soaring through the sky—it sounded most bizarre indeed. His intuition had been confirmed. If the skyskirr reacted so badly to the realm of men, then surely he would fare as poorly if transported to where they were from.

  But before he could ponder more, a second door opened as quietly as the first. Someone else entered the room.

  “I am Alodar, the archimage,” the newcomer said. “Tell me quickly. What is the news of the sighting of Elezar the golden? Few know even the sound of his name. What is it that you have seen?”

  Kestrel jerked his thoughts back to why they had come. He watched the archimage as he approached. Streaks of white ran through fine yellow-brown hair. Furrows of concentration had become permanently etched at the bridge of the nose. The purple robe hung simply over a slight frame. On one sleeve were the logos of all five of the crafts.

  Kestrel looked most intensely at the eyes. They were alive with intelligence and a driving will shone through. He felt a surge of doubt about what he hoped to accomplish. The archimage was not one to be either easily fooled or tempted.

  “It has been almost thirty years,” Alodar continued. “Thirty years since our one and only encounter.” The furrow above his nose deepened. “And the truth of it is that one is sufficient for any man. For all this time, I have hoped there would not be the need for another.”

  “There is also the matter of the wizards of Brythia,” Kestrel said carefully. He pointed at Phoebe and her robe that she carried over her arm. “They are ill-disposed toward this master who has travelled a great distance to seek your aid in clearing her name. Ah, hers and the ones who accompany her as well.”

  Alodar stopped his rush into the room and quickly looked about. “Forgive my lack of hospitality,” he said. “Find a chair to your liking. It is just that dealing with the likes of Elezar is so urgent that—”

  Alodar stopped and his eyes narrowed. “What demon is this?” he asked, pointing at Astron. “Which of you have him under control and why is he dressed as a man?”

  Astron looked up from the book he was perusing. He threw back his hood and tilted his head slightly in Alodar’s direction. “My will is bound only to the service of my prince,” Astron said. “I am Elezar’s messenger, bidding that you contact him at once through the flame.”

  Alodar frowned. “Elezar can pass through the barrier only after many lesser demons have preceded him. Since our first battle, all wizards everywhere interact with great caution so that never do too many come through to our realm at any one time.”

  “Contact only, not passage, is what my prince desires.” Astron stepped forward. “He is in great peril from his own kind and seeks out aid from the only one he acknowledges as greater.”

  “Few enough know even the name of the prince,” Alodar said. “But perhaps you have somehow learned. If you are truly from the golden one, then you will have knowledge that others would not.”

  “His eyes are green but flecked with gold,” Astron said. “His stature is but fingerwidths greater than mine. Hooded, he, too, could pass unnoticed in the realm of men. His—”

  Alodar waved Astron to stop. He slumped into a chair at one of the crowded tables, then looked back at Kestrel with a weary smile. “I would much rather handle a squabble among a dozen councils of wizards,” he said, “or spend more time trying to squeeze one more secret from the lore recorded in this room.” He arched his back and stretched. “But three decades of running from one crisis to another eventually take their toll. The glamor of being world-saver wears thin after perhaps the dozenth time.”

  Kestrel did not respond. He looked out of one of the high windows, but still saw no sign of any imps or djinns. There might be time enough after all. Soon he would learn which of Astron’s words were no more true than the fancies that he himself wove. Hopefully from what he discovered he would be able to spin his own scheme to turn aside the Brythian wizards. He glanced at Alodar’s intense expression, deciding how much his tale should dare.

  “If you would assist,” Alodar said to Phoebe, his reluctance apparently shoved aside without a moment’s more thought. “I will light the fire in the hearth and attempt to see if what this demon says is true.” He pointed to a well just outside one of the windows. “But if he has warped his words, be ready with a full bucket. I will want the flames doused before any great harm can be done.”

  Phoebe stepped forward cautiously. “I—I am not sure that I am worthy, archimage,” she said. “Although I won the logo of flame fairly, even the small devil who is with us I could not command.”

  “I am the one who will challenge Elezar.” Alodar shook his head. “Such a task I would wish upon no other. I do not need your skills as a master, just a quickness of eye and arm.”

  Phoebe let out her breath. She scowled, apparently annoyed at herself for the image that she presented. With a quick nod she scurried to do the archimage’s bidding.

  Kestrel and Astron watched the archimage deftly bring a simple flame to life in the stone-lined fireplace along the north wall. Alodar left for a moment and then returned with some powder that he flicked into the blaze. The fire immediately billowed and flashed into a rainbow of color.

  As Phoebe returned with the water, Alodar pulled his chair directly in front of the growing flames. Making himself comfortable, he stared into their hypnotic dance. For a long moment, nothing more happened and Kestrel shifted his weight from one leg to another. His eyes darted around the room. He wondered about the propriety of taking a second chair for himself.

  Then, just as he had about made up his mind to move, the flames flashed green and an eerie voice whispered from out of the hearth into the room.

  “Ah, master, you have come.” Kestrel heard a gentle sighing. “Astron has done well for his prince.”

  “He is so weak!” Alodar exclaimed. “This is hardly the one with whom I wrestled so long ago.”

  The archimage paused a moment, then immediately shook off his astonishment.

  “What is it you wish?” he said. “We have decided long ago, Elezar, that the affairs of the realm of men were no longer to be your concern.”

  “So they are not,” Elezar replied. “But I am one prince among many. I maneuver to keep the interests of the others away by your command and have succeeded because of my own great power.”

  The fire spit and sputtered.

  “My prince has not recovered from his wound.” Astron took a step toward the hearth. “And by the weakness of his voice I would deduce that he has received another.”

  “But consider this, archimage,” Elezar continued, apparently not hearing the voice of his cataloguer. “If my own power were to wane, who then would keep the other princes from coveting the realm of men as I did myself? And unlike creatures of my kind, you age, master. Are you ready again to undergo the test of wills that you undertook in your prime?”

  “What other prince?” Alodar leaned forward in his chair. “Who else in the realm of daemon focuses his thoughts in a way that should
not be his concern?”

  “There is Gaspar,” Elezar said. “He has proven far more potent an adversary than I did first suspect. My own domain he has ripped from the void. And before his attack a full dozen other princes he had previously allied to his cause. My hiding places in the blackness he has found one by one. The dark node I now occupy is the last. There is little time left before I am overwhelmed. Do as my messenger directs; you can fight to save the realm of men now or wait till later when the outcome will be more in your disfavor.”

  Kestrel shook his head. He could barely believe what he was hearing. Imps and sprites or minor devils summoned with anvilwood were one thing, but warring demon princes and archimages were quite another. And evidently Astron’s story was correct, just as he had stated from the first. What had he got himself into?

  “These events are all very sudden,” Alodar said. “I find it hard to believe that one as crafty as you, Elezar, would be reduced to such straits. I will need time to verify if what you say is true.”

  “Time is the luxury that you do not have, master,” the flame whispered with Elezar’s voice. “Gaspar hunts not only me but all who serve as well. In the last few ticks of the eon, many imps have crossed the barrier between our realms. Some have been instructed, I know, to track down my cataloguer—track him down so that mightier djinns can pluck off his limbs one by one, just as surely as Gaspar wishes the same fate for me. Each moment you hesitate brings closer the time when you must confront not one demon passing through the flame but more than a score. Discover what must be done before it is too late.”

  The flame sputtered. Elezar’s voice faded into the glow of the hot coals. Kestrel strained to hear more but the whispers of the demon dissolved into indistinctness. Alodar frowned and then turned to look at Astron. “What then is the message of your prince?” he asked. “What would he have me do that would restore him to power and protect the realm of men as well?”

  “The prince needs a transporter,” Astron said. “One to carry matter between the realms. One whom he trusted you to choose.”