Riddle of the Seven Realms

by Lyndon Hardy

  “Do not mind his prattle,” Sylvan cut in. “I suspect that it depresses him that you are so unlucky and there is nothing that he can do.”

  Nimbia frowned. “Without luck, yes, I understand that,” she said. “It is what happened when we first arrived—but unlucky? What do you mean?”

  Sylvan looked back down at the cauldron for a moment and then directly at Nimbia. “Why, your beauty, of course. How unfortunate to be saddled with such a burden.”

  Nimbia’s frown grew deeper. She reached up and straightened a loose strand of hair. “I know that I am fair,” she said. “It is what gives me an advantage when it comes to Byron’s affections, I do confess, but—”

  “Think, woman,” Sylvan said. “Byron cannot be the only one. The souls of how many men have been warped by the closeness of your presence so that their inner worths were hidden? Whom do you know that has acted so that you could judge him as he truly is?” She glanced at Byron. “What you do is tempt him from his destiny; and if you succeed, then whom else will he blame?” Sylvan paused and shook her head. “No, I do not rue the fact that you have him smitten. I pity you instead.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Grand Casino

  KESTREL steadied himself against the gentle roll of the ship in the quickening breeze. He shielded his eyes from the emerging sun on his starboard and squinted at the smudge directly ahead of the bowsprit. The air was hazy with the remains of a clearing fog, but already he could see what must be the tall thin towers that marked the corners of the casino. Myra might not have deduced that it was her luck that brought them to the proper destination, rather than his guess at the course, but they were there, nevertheless.

  They had been beset by calm for most of the first day at sea. At the dawn of the second, a lookout had spied a mast on the sternward horizon. The crew had buzzed with the speculation that they were being followed by the savages who had decimated the entire company of men-at-arms. Little that Myra had said changed the growing apprehensiveness of their disposition.

  Kestrel had listened closely to the description of the one who had led the charge down to the beach and almost succeeded in boarding before they were safely away. He dared not hope too much, but perhaps there was the slimmest of chances that somehow it was Astron who followed their every move through the swirling fog and occasional gusting winds, though the description did not sound right.

  Phoebe came to Kestrel’s side and reached up to massage the tense muscles in his neck. He felt tight and drawn out, like an archer’s bowstring before its release. For the two full days at sea he had just barely managed to convince Myra to direct her experiments elsewhere and save him and the wizard for the contest in the casino.

  “It is not your burden,” Phoebe said softly. “Myra would have toyed with the others, regardless of what you said. Your words were not responsible. They did no more than shield me from certain harm.”

  Kestrel shook his head. Each time that Myra had been dissuaded, she merely turned instead to another of the unfortunate ones who were prisoners below deck. Cries of pain and pleas for a quick death echoed through his mind. A terrible weight bore down on his shoulders.

  “But for what?” Kestrel said. “I have done no more than postpone the inevitable. Myra has made it quite clear that our purpose on the casino floor is to be human shields against the weapons directed at her by the other competing aleators.” He grasped Phoebe’s hands in his. “I am sorry,” he said, “sorry that my wit has not been as strong as it needs to be.”

  Kestrel looked back at the cabin in the stern. He released Phoebe’s hands and felt his fists clench tight. He remembered Milligan’s theft of his luck without even a hint of warning and the small value Jelilac placed on their lives.

  This quest had become one of mounting obligations, he thought. First, his pledge to Phoebe, then the debt he owed to rescue the rotarians who trusted him as leader, and now, if somehow he could manage it, Jelilac, Milligan, Myra, and the others like them should be made to pay for all they must have done.

  Kestrel turned to look back at the shore. Drawing Phoebe close, he watched the towers of the casino become more crisp and clear. He sucked in a chestful of air slowly, then spilled it back into the salty spray. Brave words, he thought ruefully, not what one might expect from a scheming woodcutter—especially not from one who could calculate quite well the chances of surviving without luck in a casino filled with talisman-wearing aleators. He shook his head as he flexed his fingers about the sword pommel that was not there, trying to fan the flame of his conviction so that it masked the growing fear.

  Kestrel pushed the bizarre thoughts away. Grimly he stood, silently watching and waiting for what would happen next. In a little more than what he judged to be an hour, Myra’s ship cast anchor in a crowded harbor. Her followers and prisoners came ashore into a surging mass of aspiring aleators and their own retainers. Everyone in the realm, Myra had said, would be there—if not a possessor of enough wealth to compete, then certainly to watch to see who the next archon would be.

  In the confusion of mingling bodies, one might expect someone to break for freedom, but those without talismans knew better than to try. With faces heavy with resignation, they shuffled into position as their masters directed. Kestrel kept Phoebe close, his eyes darting all about, looking for a sign of Astron or a chance to communicate through the flame.

  Except for the casino itself, the island was bare of structure, low and sandy with no plants taller than bushy shrubs. The building was shaped like a huge hexagon with high walls that Myra had said enclosed a many-tiered stadium. From each vertex of the polygon, the towers soared even farther into the sky. At the apex of each, attendants stood ready near the signal beacons that would flash the results of the competition across the sea to those whose luck prevented them from arriving in time. The walls were thick, covered by many layers of fading paint that had withstood countless years of high surf and spray. Portions of old murals peeked out from behind the peeling layers of those placed on top. Faded scenes of previous victories; cornucopia brimming with talismans and devices of chance blended into the mute drabness that surrounded them.

  Midway in the face of each of the casino walls, high doors thrice the height of a man stood open. Into each slowly snaked the retainers of the aleators, climbing into the high seats to cheer their lords onward.

  “You two shall be in the vanguard of my contingent.” Myra pointed in the direction of Kestrel and Phoebe as other aleators jostled past. “For each contender, a full dozen is allowed on the floor, but it is folly to have every minion’s neck heavy with capsules of great fortune. A single reversal could spell the end of serious contention. I think it is better for at least four to be luckless as newborn babes. Let the machines of Jelilac and the others do their worst. It will not be talismans of true power that feel the slings of their wrath.”

  Myra waited until all the aleators at the nearest door had entered. Then, with a majestic swirl of a cape she had donned for the ceremony, she walked slowly into the casino. Immediately inside the outer shell, Kestrel saw the stairways leading up into the stands on either side. Pressed against the high ceiling, globes of bioluminescent fungi bathed everything in an eerie soft light. Directly ahead, a tunnel ran onto the floor of the casino itself. The ground underfoot was bare earth, almost muddy from the humid air.

  Myra motioned her followers, except for the chosen twelve, to take the stairs to the left and ascend to the highest seats, as far removed as possible from the rest of the spectators. When the last had begun to climb, she nodded to Kestrel and Phoebe to begin their entrance.

  Kestrel clutched empty air at his side with a feeling of futility. He felt his pulse begin to race. On Jelilac’s sloop, he had managed to escape, but here in the casino there would be too many. He started to speak when a sudden crashing boom exploded outward from the casino floor and echoed down the tunnel walls.

  “Minefields,” Myra grunted without losing a stride. “Evidently one of the contestan
ts did not enter sufficiently prepared.”

  Another explosion ripped down the passageway. Then a third came, this one mingled with cries of pain and a roar from the crowd. Kestrel moved forward as slowly as he could with the tip of a sword planted squarely in the small of his back. He stepped in front of Phoebe just as he reached the tunnel entrance and looked out into the bright light of the contesting field, squinting to see what was happening.

  From the other entrances were emerging more contingents, each with a dozen retainers surrounding a richly dressed aleator shouting commands. Nearer the center of the casino floor, still other groups surrounded their leaders, but in most cases their number had been reduced from the original dozen. Only six still protected a corpulent, well-dressed lord in their midst, and one of those limped, with his left arm hanging useless at his side. Their goal evidently was the same as the rest of the contenders, to reach one of the shallow pits dug into the ground and surrounded by chalky white boulders and low barriers of tumbled logs.

  The group proceeded cautiously and then, with no apparent reason, veered sharply to the left. With a flash of angry yellow, another boom ricocheted through the stadium. Kestrel saw the retainer on the far right suddenly hurled up in the air, his body bent like a handful of broken twigs.

  “Come,” Myra said as she arrived at the entrance. “We will show them that my luck is sufficient to find a path to a fortress without fear or hesitation.” She prodded one of her talisman-protected men-at-arms forward, and he began pacing rapidly out onto the casino floor. “Follow his footsteps, follow them exactly,” Myra commanded. “Match him step for step, if you wish to survive until you are needed later.”

  Kestrel hesitated while he watched the man-at-arms suddenly veer sharply to the left and then just as quickly resume his course toward the protective barricades. He felt the sharp prodding in his back and sucked in his breath. Stepping out into the warrior’s footprints, he reached behind to pull Phoebe’s hand. He took two tentative steps and then half a dozen more, matching the zigzag path of his predecessor as best he could. Moving with increasing haste so that he would not lose the trail, he pulled Phoebe after him, only dimly aware of Myra and her other followers snaking behind.

  A sudden crack sharper than the boom of the mines suddenly pierced through the din on Kestrel’s right. He felt a sudden rip of pain in his hand and looked down to see a streak of blood, as if he had been neatly nicked by a blade. He looked up to see the nearest boulder of the barricade just ahead. Instinctively he snapped Phoebe forward and tumbled her over the rock, just as a second pop sounded behind him. As he jumped for cover, what sounded like a shower of pebbles skittered against the thick granite behind.

  “A grenade,” Myra muttered behind him as she was helped over the rock by two of her retainers. She stopped and coughed, trying to blow the dust from her lungs. “Shrapnel will find the unlucky. About that there can be no doubt.”

  Elsewhere in the casino, the other contesting groups were also seeking what shelter they could. Those who arrived the latest were beginning to erect makeshift barriers of shields and protruding lances on open ground as far removed from the other contingents as possible. More grenades began to soar through the air, lofted from one group to the one closest. The dull boom of the mines was replaced by the staccato pop of many tiny projectiles.

  One of the less protected groups sallied from their cover and raced with swords drawn at the adversaries on their left. Kestrel expected to see a protracted and grim struggle like the carefully choreographed dances of the reticulates, but instead, in a brief mêlée, the encounter was over. Half of the attackers stumbled and fell when they engaged their opponents; the rest were dispatched by the first lucky swings of carelessly aimed swords. Kestrel shifted his focus and saw another brief flurry erupt on the opposite side of the casino floor and, far to the right, yet two more.

  “The ones whose wishes exceed their stores of wealth,” Myra said at Kestrel’s side. “They mimic the contest of old when strength of arm and cleverness of siegecraft determined the victor. Soon they will all be gone, and those of true potential will struggle as it should be done.”

  Fulfilling her prophecy instantly, a strong voice suddenly rang through the din. “A challenge, a challenge of true virtue to masqueraders on our left.”

  Immediately the crowd fell silent and all the hostilities ceased on the casino floor. Kestrel craned around to see Milligan standing on the top of a small boulder near one of the tunnels with a megaphone to his mouth. Evidently Jelilac’s had been one of the last contingents to arrive.

  “We do the great practice of our art disservice by such crude measures,” Milligan continued. “Avoiding mines and the shrapnel of grenades takes a measure of luck, to be sure, but it in no way answers which of us has the greatest power and hence the authority to rule.” Milligan paused and circled to address the stands at his back. “Remember our heritage,” he said. “This very edifice is enshrined with the name of the grand casino—not the arena, not the stadium, but the casino where all is ruled by chance. The events to be decided here are to be based upon the pristine twisting of gaseous luck, not the slashing of bloodied blades.”

  The crowd roared in approval, but Milligan motioned them back to silence. “Yes, luck is to be the mechanism of decision—luck, pure and unsullied with irrelevant skill.”

  He pointed at his side to a large glass bowl with two transparent tubes snaking out of the top and filled with tiny white spheres. “Of all those who have assembled to struggle here Jelilac is the most mighty, the one with the greatest hoard of fortune. He issues a challenge to one and all. The first to have three numbers discharged will be the victor. The vanquished will cease their struggles and submit all talismans to aid in the greater cause.” Milligan paused and then shut his eyes. Extending his arm, he pointed out across the casino floor and spun about three times, quickly pirouetting to a sudden halt.

  “You!” He laughed as he sighted down the length of his arm toward a small fortification across the floor. “You shall be the first to test that Jelilac’s luck is the most potent of all.”

  Kestrel turned to watch a young aleator rise from cover and shake his head. “No, that is not my plan,” he protested. “My only hope is to win against others similarly endowed and capture what luck they have remaining after the battle. Only by that means would I have the chance to face the likes of Jelilac in the end.”

  The crowd roared in disapproval. For a long while, the high walls of the casino echoed with their lust for the confrontation. Kestrel squeezed Phoebe’s hand and tried to settle into a comfortable position. At least for the moment, everyone was distracted and no grenades were hurling their way.

  He watched Milligan and two other retainers set up a wooden frame and then drape it with tapestries embroidered in intricate designs. A long hose was connected to one of the tubes protruding from the glass bowl and run back behind the panels where Kestrel could not see. In an instant, the tiny spheres began to dance in the confines of the bowl, like a boiling liquid just about to erupt. In the distance, Kestrel saw that each ball was inscribed with a few strokes of precise lettering in black ink.

  “Your numbers,” Milligan shouted over the fading din of the crowd. “Everyone here demands it. Remember the fourth tenet—luck favors the believer. If you have doubts and hesitate, then surely you will fail.”

  The aleator across the casino floor looked wildly out into the stands and then slumped his shoulders. He grasped at the handful of talismans about his neck and tightly clenched shut his eyes “Seven, nineteen, and thirty-seven,” he shouted after a moment. “And by the third tenet, may these charms beget all the fortune that I will need.”

  Milligan laughed and marked the selected numbers on a huge slate handed to him from within the canvas framework. “Nine, forty-two, and forty-three,” he called out without apparent thought and added them in a line below the first. “Now we shall contest in the manner in which it has always been intended.”

  Milli
gan removed a cover from the second tube emerging from the bowl, and the crowd again fell silent. No one moved while the white spheres churned and frothed. After a short while, one of the balls bounced into the conical orifice that fed the exit and popped out into Milligan’s waiting hand. “Forty-two.” He laughed as he held up the orb and waved it over his head. “Forty-two on the very first ball, even though over two hundred spin about.”

  Before Milligan had finished speaking, a second sphere followed the first. Another of Jelilac’s retainers dashed out from the cover of the framing and caught it as it arched into the air. “And forty-three.” Milligan laughed again. “I can see the marking clearly from here.” He looked across the casino floor and shook his head. “You may as well make ready. It appears that the wealth you wager against Jelilac is meager indeed.”

  Milligan turned his attention back to the glass bowl just in time to receive the third ball emerging from the tube. “The third is nine,” he said. “Yes, after the first two so suddenly, there could be no doubt.”

  Most of the crowd broke into enthusiastic cheering, although Kestrel saw one small grouping high in the stands sit silently with faces pulled to their chests Milligan waved both arms over his head to keep up the volume of sound as he tripped across the casino floor to the aleator who had been defeated. With a theatrical flourish, he accepted an armload of talismans and carried them back to Jelilac’s framework.

  “Who is next?” he shouted. “Who is next to challenge? Jelilac is ready to battle with one and all.”

  Kestrel looked at Myra out of the corner of his eye. He saw the old woman slowly shaking her head. “Not yet,” she muttered. “Each contest dissipates a little of Jelilac’s wealth back into the ether. And there is always the chance that he will not be able to beat them all. I will wait until the last, when my own opportunity is the best.”