Riddle of the Seven Realms m-3

by Lyndon Hardy

  Astron shrugged off Kestrel's hand. "The one named Finvarwin is one that we need to interrogate further. Perhaps more than any other he would know of harebell pollen and even the ultimate precept."

  "Yes, the old one certainly," Kestrel whispered back. "But at a time when not so many are about. Now we must be going, before it is too late. Being hunted in two realms should be enough, even for a demon."

  Astron looked out at the ring closing in on Nimbia. He glanced over his shoulder in the dimness. Kestrel was right. There was a path leading through the dense underbrush and he should lead, because he was more familiar with what they would encounter.

  Astron glanced a second time at Nimbia. His thoughts took a strange turn. Kestrel also had been right about how to get the imps into a bottle. The way the human had planned to manipulate the wizards at Phoebe's cabin was something no demon would have conceived on his own. For the dozenth time he realized there was much about the mortal that Astron wished to learn.

  But the words Kestrel spoke were sometimes so unexpected and peculiar that Astron could not fully comprehend the intent-duty to oneself rather than a prince, lures for gold djinns when none such existed, or travelling through the flame for Phoebe and no other.

  Perhaps mere words would not be enough to unravel the mysteries of men; perhaps their experiences would have to be sampled before understanding could come. Astron looked one final time at Phoebe and Kestrel, standing close together with their arms about each other, and made up his mind.

  He stripped away the hood and cape from his back. Gripping the book of thaumaturgy firmly in both hands, he suddenly sprang out from the cover of the heavy leaves. The sentryman standing nearest turned in the direction of the rustling sound, but grappled for his dagger too slowly to defend himself as Astron rushed forward. The demon swung the book high overhead and then crashed it down on the skull of the startled guard.

  The fey crumpled to the ground. Astron staggered to retain his balance and somehow managed to tuck the bulky volume under his arm. He bounded down the hillock toward where Nimbia still waved a dagger of her own. A shout of alarm went up from the onlookers. Everyone seemed to freeze in their tracks. Astron felt the beginning of a compelling pressure in the depths of his thoughts.

  He grimaced in resistance, pulling his face into a tight little ball, forcing the mental probes away. Through eyes half closed, he saw Nimbia dip her dagger cautiously as he ran up and extended his free hand.

  "To safety, through the underbrush," Astron shouted as he closed. "If no one else will defend you, then I am the one."

  Nimbia hesitated a moment, but then firmly clasped Astron's outstretched wrist. He felt a surprising tingling when the smoothness of her skin touched his, but pushed the sensation away. Almost jerking Nimbia from her feet, he reversed direction and began racing back up the hill.

  The pressure against his thoughts increased. The fey dealt with a demon by force of will, not slashing blades. He felt the probes of many minds mold into one unifying whole. "Stop, desist," a voice inside his head seemed to say. "We are many and you are one. You cannot resist the combined will of us all."

  Astron stumbled over a small rock, but continued his climb. His limbs began to stiffen. The panic in his stem-brain stirred from its slumber. As they reached the sentryman Astron had felled, Nimbia drew even with the demon. In half a dozen more steps she was tugging on the grip between them, pulling Astron forward into the cover of the bush,

  "Why did you do that?" Kestrel shouted as the pair ducked under the leaf. "Have you gone mad? Has some wizard put you under his control?"

  "I do not know for certain," Astron said thickly. He waved at Phoebe and then dropped his arm heavily to his side. "But then I would not have had to, if you had explained-explained why you rescued your wizard when you could have been safely away from her cabin."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Paradox of Beauty

  A dagger soared into the underbrush over Astron's head, entangling in the drooping leaves. Retreat deeper into the foliage was an immediate necessity or else Nimbia would not be the only one captured by hillsovereign Prydwin.

  But Astron found his thoughts becoming much more sluggish. His limbs would barely move. It was difficult enough understanding the words of both Kestrel and Nimbia as they spoke in their respective tongues.

  "There are only three of you!" Astron heard Nimbia exclaim. "And none from my own underhill as I had supposed."

  Another dagger crashed into the canopy. Kestrel pushed Phoebe to the ground out of its path. "Well, what is the rest of the plan, demon?" he asked. "You know this place as we do not. In what direction do we proceed?"

  "Only three," Nimbia repeated, "but then effective, nonetheless. Prydwin's kind are so used to his will being obeyed without resistance that his sentrymen have little chance to do more than serve as a frame for the presentation of his creations. As I think of it now, none of my kind would have succeeded. The daggers were too many. A bold action, demon, was precisely what was needed."

  Astron felt her grip tighten in his hand. "Come," she said. "If we escape safely back to my own underbill, even though you are not one of the fey, you will be rewarded."

  Nimbia turned into the darkness toward the huge trunk and pulled Astron after. He clutched the book of thaumaturgy to his chest and struggled as best he could not to stumble. Dimly, he was aware of Kestrel and Phoebe following behind.

  The little light that filtered between the overhanging leaves vanished altogether. Astron saw Nimbia pull what looked like a gnarled root from her belt and, with her free hand, extend it overhead. The tuber glowed with a feeble yellow light that just managed to illuminate the obstacles that lay in their way.

  The thick trunks that supported the overhang grew closer together. Aboveground, suckers caused more than one stumble as they ran. Grublike insects with bodies as big as the arm of a djinn scurried out of their way. Rasps and loud clicks blended with the stomp of their feet against the ground.

  For how long they raced, Astron could not tell. Except for Nimbia's glowroot, the darkness was as deep as the void in his own realm. His chest began to hurt from the exertion. Sharp pains crackled through his knees. He was a demon of contemplation and not used to such stressing of his body. What little weaving he was capable of to supply his basic needs was being severely overburdened.

  Then suddenly Nimbia stopped at the base of a particularly large trunk. She gestured upward and released her grip on Astron's hand. Like an acrobatic gibbon in the realm of men, she grabbed hold of a low branch and swung herself upward. Kestrel grunted in understanding. He cupped his hands to give Phoebe a boost. With Nimbia astride the limb and pulling, Kestrel pushed from below. Phoebe clawed her way onto the limb in a tumble of cape and long skirt. Kestrel followed quickly. Only Astron remained on the ground.

  The pressure to submit grew in intensity. Astron found he could barely move. With agonizing slowness, he raised the book for Phoebe to grasp and then cupped the branch in his hand.

  "Hurry," Kestrel whispered. "They cannot be far behind."

  "It is the contest of wills," Nimbia said. "The followers of Prydwin command him to be still."

  The thought that Kestrel and Nimbia had no way of understanding each other floated slowly across Astron's mind. He should serve as translator, but somehow he no longer cared. Perhaps it was hopeless to run further. Eventually they would be found anyway. Why not at least take a rest at the base of this bush, rather than exert himself any more?

  Astron felt his grip on the branch loosen. With a feeling of peace, he began to slide to the ground. Slumped in a heap at the base, perhaps he would not be seen. Or even if they did see him, what really did it matter? Astron curled up into a tight ball. A crooked smile formed on his face.

  But just as consciousness began to fade, a thought of piercing sharpness ricocheted through his head. Resist, it commanded. I am the closest and have the greater influence. Resist their wills because I wish it so.

  Nimbia! Ast
ron stirred from his dimness. She was a wizard like the rest. Her thoughts churned with the others. And somehow they were different-strong because of her nearness, to be sure. But the crushing drive to dominate was held in restraint. Her will was adding to his, repelling the others, giving his own consciousness room in which to function, time to construct barriers against the pressure to quit.

  Astron vaguely became aware of many hands tugging on his body and of being lifted into the air. He felt the rough fiber of the stringy bark against his skin. He flailed past the first horizontal level of branches and then several tiers more. Finally he felt an embrace that held him firm. Nimbia's arms coiled around him. He smelled the exotic aroma of her closeness and heard the rustle of her tunic against his own.

  "Do not fight me, demon," he heard her whisper. "Blend your will with mine. Cling to me and do not let go. When they pass below and do not find us, their command will be for you to come forth, and you must not."

  Astron saw the dance of glowroots in the distance and a line of sentrymen fanning out along the crude path on which they had fled. He heard Phoebe suck in her breath and the three about him stiffen into nervous silence.

  As Nimbia had predicted, the voices inside his head changed their direction. No longer was he implored to stop and freeze. Instead, he felt a growing urge for action, to bolt forth and run into the open, to flee the dismal dark cover to the gentle light of the glen.

  Astron's limbs began to tremble. With all the concentration left to his command, he clutched Nimbia harder, willing his arms to stiffen. He must hold on.

  Nimbia seemed to sense his struggle. Her grip tightened and her thoughts blended with his. He felt the strength of her inner being, like a vault of steel. He poured his own essence into it, molding to the contours of the container, pressing against her, like an annealing of the alchemists that could not be torn away.

  Through barely open eyes, he saw the followers of Prydwin draw closer, peering cautiously into the inky darkness and listening for some sound of their flight. Some passed in the distance to either side, but three came close to the enormous bush in which they hid.

  Come forward, the voices commanded. Come forward; it is the will of the fey. Astron slammed shut his eyes and crushed Nimbia to him. He heard the gasp of her breath from the force of his embrace. He felt her nails dig into his back, even through the thickness of his tunic. The trembling of his limbs shook his entire body in spasms. He ached from the effort to remain silent and still.

  Mentally, he tried to keep the image of Nimbia's vault in focus, pushing against the surface of her being everywhere he could. He felt her accepting his struggle, welcoming the intertwining of what he was with her. He saw beyond the smooth strength that she projected into recesses of her existence that went beyond the immediate struggle-hints of great pride in her creations, the agony of defeat in competition with Prydwin, the frustration of the petty jealousies of her courtiers, and a deep-lying melancholy that perhaps even she did not understand.

  Like the flickers of a dying flame, the images fluttered briefly in Astron's mind, then faded away. If he were struggling to dominate her across the barrier of the flame, he would have pursued them further, exposed them to view, analytically picked the one most painful, and then exploited it until her will was his own to do with as he chose.

  But Nimbia was sharing his struggle. To meld the fullness of her strength to his she had to expose the foundations from which it sprang. She bared the innermost essence of her being in trust. He could do no more than accept the gift that was given.

  The urge to howl in pain rose in Astron's chest. He clamped his jaws shut, feeling that his teeth would explode into fragmented shards from the pressure to remain silent. Every muscle in his body ached from the conflicting commands to remain immobile on one hand and to dance into fevered action on the other.

  He felt the strong walls of Nimbia's mental vault buckle on the bottom and the band about the mouth wrench apart in a silent scream of ripping metal. Although he strained to resist, the top stretched wide and, as if pushed by giant thumbs, the bottom bulged upward toward the opening. Almost helplessly, he felt the container wrenched inside out, exposing his own being to the relentless will of the others.

  But then, just when he could stand remaining silent no longer, the pressure lessened. Almost in disbelief, Astron darted a glance out of one eye to the ground below. Whistled commands sang through the leaves. The sentrymen were moving on through the brush.

  As the searchers departed, so did the pressure in Astron's head. The trembling of his limbs slowed to random twitches and then stopped altogether. His own consciousness expanded to fill all of his being. Almost with a sense of reluctance, he felt Nimbia's presence within him withdraw as well.

  No one moved, however. All four remained frozen, lest the smallest sound draw the attention of Prydwin's sentrymen back to where they hid. In silence, Astron heard the whistles and calls grow fainter until only the buzz and click of the insects remained.

  Finally, after an immeasurable time, Nimbia shifted slightly and uncoiled her arms from around Astron's back. With muscles stiff from fatigue, he released her as well. Nimbia pulled the glowroot from her pouch and brought it up to eye level. Astron saw her look him in the eye and then quickly dart her glance aside. A hint of redness blossomed in her cheeks.

  "Forgive me," she said softly. "When we struggled to resist the will of the others, I could not help but learn of things that you probably do not want to share."

  "And I of you," Astron responded. "I sensed I should not but-"

  "If those are thank-yous you are exchanging, they can come later," Kestrel cut in. "No doubt the others will return this way when they have convinced themselves they have lost our trail. Ask the nabob if she knows of a more permanent shelter we can reach before nightfall."

  Astron shrugged and told Nimbia what Kestrel had said. Serving as the intermediary came easily now. The conversation flowed almost as swiftly as if they all spoke the same tongue.

  "There is no nightfall," Nimbia said. "The soft blue that you saw in the glen remains eternally the same. Finvarwin and the old ones before him say that our realm is a globe centered inside a hollow sphere that radiates light and heat uniformly. There are no days, no seasons. It is the reason that we find such delight in our creations.

  "And as to safety, we will journey to the hill under which I am the absolute ruler. Perhaps, before the other sovereigns decide on how they will combine their forces and attack, there will be enough time to create again- create before the next judging with something that even Finvarwin cannot deny is the best."

  "Would not moving and staying hidden be better?" Kestrel asked. "To face again the pronouncements of your high king seems fraught with risk."

  "I must," Nimbia said. "It is my duty, my duty to my people."

  "Duty," Astron repeated slowly. "I know of duty- or at least I thought I did. I come to your realm in search for the answer to a riddle because my prince demands-"

  "Come." Nimbia touched her finger to Astron's lips. "The human is right. We must get underhill before Prydwin's sentrymen return."

  For what would be hours in the realm of men, Nimbia led Astron and the others through the darkness of the brush. They encountered no sign of Prydwin's followers and eventually emerged on the edge of a clearing similar to the glen in which they had first arrived. Rather than slope down to a stream, however, the grass-covered ground rose from where they stood. From all sides of the open space, at first gently and then with increasing slope, the soft greenness underfoot tilted upward to form a high hillock in the very center. Like a great upside-down bowl thrust against the ground, the bulge dominated the landscape; its broad, flat apex stood higher even than the crest of the bushes which edged the clearing.

  As Nimbia moved out into the open, the ground underfoot began to vibrate with a great rumbling. The music of pipes and lyres filled the air. Astron saw the hillock shudder slightly and then begin to move. The ground parted with a clean
horizontal slit. On dozens of stout pillars, the central portion of the hillock rose slowly into the air.

  Brilliant lights, laughter, and music sweet and pure poured out of the opening. Astron saw long banquet tables groaning under piles of glistening fruit and heavy flagons coolly sparkling with a patina of dew. Scores of lithe dancers pirouetted in complex patterns. Laughing jugglers kept dozens of small objects whirling above their heads.

  "Nimbia, Nimbia," dozens of joyful voices called out.

  "Our hillsovereign returns."

  "She has triumphed at last."

  "Finvarwin has been pleased. Look, he gives her three changelings as prize for her great worth."

  "Alert the scribes and the tellers. There will be work for all."

  Astron saw a throne of polished stone being pushed into a position of prominence on a dais bathed with colored lights. Two long lines of what looked like pages formed on either side. Small girls began strewing delicate flower petals from the base outward onto the grass of the clearing. Stout-cheeked pipers stuck long-stemmed pipes into bowls filled with nearly solid gels. With straining lungs, they forced upward bubbles of air that burst and sprayed all those about to their laughing delight. Fragrant odors tickled Astron's nostrils and beckoned him forward.

  Nimbia said nothing. With a grim smile, she walked on the path laid for her and beckoned Astron and the others to follow. Accepting a cape richly embroidered and encrusted with jewels, she mounted the steps and sat on her throne. Nimbia looked about the gaily decorated surroundings and Astron saw her face sadden. She breathed out a deep sigh.

  "I do not return in triumph," she said simply. "And those that accompany me are responsible that I return at all."

  The music stopped as did the clank of flagon and flatware from those who prepared the feast. Smiles fell from the faces of those nearest. Eyes lowered. Many of the faces looked away. For a long moment, the silence filled the hilltop; even the creak of boots and rustle of tunics against one another was stilled.