Riddle of the Seven Realms m-3

by Lyndon Hardy

  He glanced into her rheumy eyes and scowled. The aleator had proven to be quite stubborn. Just like Jelilac, she had insisted on subjecting them to a test that quantified the extent of their fortune.

  "One more mishap will not prove what you wish." He waved at the complicated apparatus at his side. "I have done as you instructed more than half a dozen times and my skill with the tossing ball has not changed in any noticeable way. My wealth is shielded. Not even the slightest efflux leaks from the wards."

  "No one with true wealth keeps it all hidden." Myra shook her head. "At least some is contained in simple talismans to ward off the trivial misfortunes of the ambience. Why, the tosses of anyone with even a minimum of luck would find the hoops connected to the lever that raises the blade. By now it should be swinging just beneath the beams. The fact that, instead, you have sent it up and down in an almost random fashion indicates that the power of your wards is only a fantasy. You are paupers and nothing more."

  She hesitated a moment and then motioned to the guards at her side. "Just in case there is an element of truth in what he says, subject him one more time to the linkage of reversal. Then have him make the final pitch."

  Kestrel felt his chest tighten. One more trip of the wrong lever would prove fatal to Phoebe. Grimly, he searched through his mind for something that would give him an opening, some hidden crevice in Myra's character that he could exploit. Kestrel's thoughts tumbled while he watched the complicated mechanical linkages at his side shuffle together a thick deck of cards. He felt mild shocks from copper wires wrapped around his ankles while he watched, but by now they were no more than an annoying irritant. When the mixing stopped, he reached forward without prompting and selected one from the deck, just as he had done many times before.

  He flipped the bit of stiff parchment faceup on the table and reached for the second, not even bothering to notice the ornately decorated woman with cold dark eyes staring back. "The whole deck is probably nothing other than the black queen," he grumbled. "The fact that I draw ten or so of them in a row proves little."

  "Of course they are all the same," Myra said. "How else can one's luck be convinced that it is of the wrong sign? It is fickle as the fifth tenet states, and once it is flipped, it will bring nothing but misfortune. If, by some chance, you do possess some wealth and I cannot have it contributing in a positive fashion to my own, then it will serve instead as a weapon against the others when we game in the grand casino."

  Kestrel took a deep breath. He had to gamble on what little knowledge he had. "The book with figures," he said slowly, "the one that Milligan says you possess. It sounds to me to be no more than a navigator's almanac. Is it why he calls you Myra the doubting?"

  Kestrel noticed a sudden flicker in Myra's cheeks. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but then returned to their piercing stare. He waited expectantly. The signs were not much, but perhaps indeed he had chanced upon something he could twist to advantage.

  "Could you be so bold," Myra said after a moment, "actually to follow the instructions as they are written, without knowing the consequences?" She waved her arms about the cabin. "None of my minions would dare attempt it, despite the apparent advantage."

  Myra stroked her chin and then shrugged. "Jelilac has a great store of luck for use in the games, perhaps the greatest of all. I would rather husband each dram of mine and not waste any on getting from here to the casino, wherever that might be."

  "You do not know?" Kestrel said. "A navigation almanac would be most basic on such a sea as this."

  "Perhaps in dimmest memory, there were such things," Myra said. "But to use them would be counter to the basic tenets of any aleator. We sail where the winds take us, and, if we truly believe, it will be where we desire. Our luck provides. To use a calculation, no matter how reliable it might be, is a statement of distrust."

  Myra leaned forward until her face was a hand span from Kestrel's own. "Luck favors the believer," she said, "just as the fourth tenet states. If you sincerely trust in it, you will weather your trials unscathed; if you doubt, then it gives the fifth tenet a chance to wreak its havoc.

  "The book and the device labeled as a sextant which accompanies it," Myra continued in a hushed voice, "they must come from someone beyond the farthest extent of our realm-from someone whose wish is to do us harm, to make us doubt in our very foundations and in our reasons for existing at all."

  Myra drew back and squinted at Kestrel. "No, it would do great ill for me or one of my minions to perform the calculations that would point us where we wish to go. I have often wondered if it were good luck or ill in the first place that led me to find it in the smoking ashes of a lightning-struck fire."

  She reached out and tapped a long slender finger against Kestrel's chest. "But one so foolhardy as to spout of invincible wards, to him there surely could be no harm. He would not fear the misfortune that might result from following the ritual or from the weight upon his thoughts about what he has done."

  Kestrel looked back into Myra's eyes, unblinking. He weighed the risks and decided that the chance was worth it. It might not be more than simple sightings, and he would be done. With just the right words, it would free Phoebe and give her a chance at Camonel as well.

  "Of course, as I understand the third tenet-luck begets luck-" he said, "the ritual might not be one of misfortune, but would enhance whatever one possesses at the outset instead." He shrugged and smiled. "And since both of ours are still intact, the increase might be most significant-significant enough that even the chances of Myra the doubter will become slim in the grand casino. Yes, by all means release the woman and we will do it. I believe, I believe deeply in our triumphant success."

  Myra frowned and rubbed at her chin. "Your speech is glib," she said. "Most glib for one so close to disaster. Perhaps there is some truth in what you speak after all."

  Her eyes lost their focus, and for a long moment she I looked past Kestrel out onto the sea. "Jelilac," she muttered. "It is he that I fear the most. Against him, I must marshal every resource. It would be folly not to take advantage of what my luck has offered."

  She looked back at Kestrel and smiled. "There is also the second tenet," she said. "The entropy of luck always increases. Your wards might be a marvel of which I know not, but no matter how cleverly constructed, I doubt that they could withstand the heat of a flame."

  Kestrel steeled himself from smiling in return. He forced a look of apprehension onto his face. "Just a moment." He licked his lips quickly. "We have excellent shields, it is true, but I said nothing about being so foolish as to subject them to a fire."

  Myra's smile broadened. "Ah, the composure does seem to waver a bit," she said. "Perhaps you were right. Nothing in this room would provide a sufficient test."

  "You know as well as I what happens when fire is applied to any container, no matter how clever its construction." Kestrel put protest into his voice. He waved his arm about the room. "Never mind what I said. You can do with us what you will with any of your devices; but like everyone else, we shun the flame." Kestrel stopped and lowered his eyes. "Please," he said softly. "We have struggled too long to build up what we have. Anything but a fire."

  "Thus it shall be." Myra slapped her side. "Yes, this will be far more rewarding than any of the simple tests that the likes of Jelilac would try." She looked over her shoulder and yelled out onto the deck. "Bring the kindling and the spark. We shall set them out on a raft where the logs can be the fuel. After he has performed the ritual as the tome instructs, whatever luck they accrue will be burned entirely away."

  "But-" Kestrel began.

  "Silence," Myra commanded. She motioned to a sailor in the hatchway and he came forward, clutching a large leather-bound book like a servant with a tray. Balancing on its upper surface was a sextant of gleaming metal.

  Kestrel forced his eyes to open wide and then slumped his shoulders. Hanging his head, he stepped aside while two more sailors pulled the swinging blade out of the way and untied Pho
ebe. He squeezed her hand as a signal for silence as she rose to her feet. They could be safely away, he thought. With just a little more luck- He stopped the race of his thoughts. Holding his breath, he managed to offer a token resistance to the arms that propelled him out of the cabin as the final piece of convincing.

  As Kestrel watched with what he hoped was a defeated expression on his face, the entire crew seemed to come alive with a blur of activity. A small raft was lowered over the side, tethered to a long rope, and pushed by poles away from the hull. Matches and kindling were assembled and an archer was ferried across from the second of Myra's ships.

  While he and Phoebe were guided by knifepoint to a small boat, the archer began donning a thick, padded vest and hood. In silence, the two of them were rowed out to the raft and unceremoniously pushed onto its rocking deck. Kestrel saw the archer place his hands in thick gloves with which he could barely grasp his bow. Bulky shields were placed behind his back. At arm's length, he gingerly struck a spark that caught some curly shavings on fire. The archer dipped a tar-soaked arrow-tip into the blaze, involuntarily flinching backward as it burst into a smoky flame. Aiming awkwardly, he nocked the shaft and pointed it at the small raft.

  Kestrel turned to Phoebe and smiled. "I hope that this idea is a better one than tossing the ball into the hoops," he said.

  Kestrel put down the book and arched his back. Most of an hour had passed. He looked at the archer still straining at attention on Myra's barge and felt a grim satisfaction at his discomfort. It had, of course, been too much to expect that he could read as well as understand the language of the realm, especially since their initial luck had all been siphoned away by Milligan. A little more time would be a reasonable enough amount for study, he judged, and then he would go through the motions of sighting.

  "When I am done and shout back the heading," he said to Phoebe, "they will undoubtedly give the instruction to fire the shaft. Let it start the raft burning and then use some of the powder you obtained from the arch-image to summon Camonel to our aid."

  "What about the sextant and book?" Phoebe said. "If they are from beyond this realm, might not they reveal some clue about Astron's riddle as well?"

  "The sextant is of some arcane design, but I think I have figured out how to use it in a convincing fashion." Kestrel shook his head. "Except for a few unusual features, the book appears much as one would expect, page after page of tables." He shrugged and again shook his head. "If Astron were here, he might make something more of the instructions, but the significance I cannot tell."

  Kestrel rapidly thumbed through the bulk of the volume, grunting as the pages fell through his fingers. "It must have been constructed by more than one scribe, and certainly they did not talk to each other. See, the style changes with the entries for every few days. Initially there are four columns on each leaf, with what I guess from the accompanying logos to be the position of the sun on the upper half and the brighter stars beneath. Next, it changes to data in rows, if the headings are to be believed, and after that the solar elevations are completely separated from the rest. On and on it goes, with fancy scrollwork and then harsh starkness, changing the format every fortnight or so."

  He set down the tome and laughed despite himself. "It certainly was designed to be well used. The entries run on and on for what must be hundreds and hundreds of years. I doubt that anyone would really care, unless it was passed on from one generation to the next. Surely what is here will last Myra and her crew before a twentieth is spent."

  Kestrel shrugged and hefted the sextant. "But enough of that. Prepare to toss your powders into the fire." He looked in the direction of the setting sun and found the brightest of the evening stars. The slosh of the waves against the raft was definitely greater than against the massive sides of the barge. Only with difficulty was he able to keep what he looked at in the center of view.

  Kestrel grunted at the heaviness of the sextant, swinging it slowly to the second sighting. The screws felt awkward to his touch and wobbled in their shafts as he tried to adjust a cursor. He ran his hand over the blistered skin of iron that framed a cloudy lens. The craftsmanship was quite primitive, but he supposed it did not really matter. The heading he would shout back to Myra's barges would be the first that popped into his mind. It would depend solely upon her luck if it were accurate or not.

  When he had completed the last sighting Kestrel thumbed through the book as if he were searching for corresponding entries. Phoebe tensed at his side with her hand in the pocket of her cape, ready to toss out the powder. After a moment, he stood up on the rocking platform and cupped his hands to his mouth. "A third of a circle away from the direction of the setting sun," he shouted. "The calculations have been made and there is no doubt about-"

  Before he could finish, the archer released his bow. The arrow sliced through the gathering gloom of night and hit the raft squarely on the side closest to Myra's ships. Kestrel bent over and fanned the flames, no longer caring about what the aleators thought of his actions. He looked at Phoebe and saw her face flushed with confidence. With clenched fists, she waved her arms upward, seeming to add energy to the flame. The sparkling powder danced from her hand and fell squarely into the blaze.

  Kestrel felt his own tension grow. Soon it really would be over. Without the rush of combining realms Camonel could head directly to wherever they wished. He could find Astron and Nimbia and send the small demon back to his own realm. Then with Palodad- Kestrel stopped. He had not fully thought through the reason they wanted to find the anvilwood and send Astron home alone in the first place. Suppose he was right and Camonel was under the control of some wizard; perhaps even Prydwin was manipulating things beyond his own realm. Kestrel touched the sextant at his side and frowned. Manipulations in another realm-a navigator's almanac and sextant served exactly the same end.

  Kestrel reached out and touched Phoebe's shoulder, even though he knew he should not. "Wait a moment," he said. "Perhaps it would be better if it were some other demon that you-"

  Kestrel's words were cut short. With a hiss of foul-tasting air, the massive djinn stepped from the flame and stood as a sinister, dark silhouette against the last rays of the sun.

  "I, Camonel, submit to your will because my prince Palodad instructs it," the demon said. "There is no need for a struggle of wills. Speak your command and it will be mine to perform."

  "Never mind about princes and allegiances in the realm of daemon," Kestrel said before Phoebe could speak. Her eyes darted to him, but he rushed on, ignoring her puzzlement. "It is your mastery which we wish to know. Yes, not princes but masters. Is the wizard here the one who dominates your will totally so that you must do all that she asks, or is there another who instructs you instead to say the words that prevent any true struggle from taking place?"

  Sparkles of blue began to dance about Camonel's teeth in the twilight. In the faint glow, Kestrel saw the demon's scowl grow into one of true menace. For a long moment, the djinn was silent. Then his rumbling voice again came forth.

  "Where is Astron, the one who walks? It is not only the pollen. He is needed as well."

  "Your master-who is it truly?" Phoebe asked suddenly, apparently catching the drift of Kestrel's thought. "Now that I think of it, each time was too easy. I was too flushed in victory to examine closely how I felt. You merely said that I was yours to dominate, but never was there a true test."

  "Prince Palodad instructs that I serve and-"

  "Not him," Phoebe interrupted. "Not another demon-your master. What is his name?"

  Kestrel sucked in his breath. He looked up at the glowing yellow eyes of the djinn and felt a cold numbness creeping down his spine. If Camonel was not under Phoebe's control, what would happen then?

  Again Camonel was silent for a long moment. His face distorted in indecision. Finally he answered in a staccato popping of sparks that shot from his teeth and lips. "I am to do whatever I am asked by you, provided that it does not conflict with what I otherwise have been told."
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  "Then the need for Astron to accompany the pollen, Palodad's words that the grains held some clue to the answer-"

  "Of that I cannot say." Camonel shook his head.

  Kestrel grabbed the sextant, just as a large wave sloshed into the raft and tumbled Phoebe into his side. "Is your master the manipulator?" He waved the instrument in front of Camonel's chest. "Is it he that brought about the collapsing of the two realms of symmetry? Did he leave the sextant here so that those like Myra would doubt, so that there would be damage here in addition to the rest?"

  "Yes," Camonel said. "To speak of the manipulations themselves I am not bound. But this is only one realm of the many that swim in the void, What is your command? There is much yet to be done."

  "And Gaspar," Kestrel continued. "Is your master behind his riddle as well?"

  "Gaspar is a demon of little brain," Camonel said. "Even though he is a prince, he could never-"

  "Take us back to the realm of men," Phoebe said. "Then return and find Astron and Nimbia as-"

  A sudden wave bigger than any before raced under the raft. Kestrel tipped forward, just barely managing to grab Phoebe before she fell. The water lapped over the edge of the logs and spilled into the fire. In a flash of smoke, the flame was instantly doused and Camonel was gone.

  Kestrel tried staggering back to his feet, but the agitation of the sea increased. Stunned by what had happened, he looked out in the growing blackness toward Myra's ship and heard the aleator calling out over the bulwark.

  "The first is spent but it has done its job. See the increased agitation of the surf. A great wave is coming and their luck does not ward it away. Pull them back aboard and we will slip offshore a league or so until the disturbance passes. Then on the morrow we will set sail as the glib one has directed. Keep them in bondage. If I can think of no new amusement during our journey, then certainly they can serve as shields on the floor of the casino."

  Almost in a daze, Kestrel pulled Phoebe to him and held her tight. He looked at the last wisps of smoke from the doused fire and cursed his luck, what little there was of it. Now they would have to travel to the casino. There would be no chance that Myra would be persuaded to light a fire again. Yes, to the casino and hope that Astron would somehow be there as well. He kicked the sextant overboard and then gave the almanac a shove-devices of the manipulator, the one behind the merging realms and the riddle as well. There might indeed be something of significance to them, he thought, but it would take someone like Astron to discover what it was. Now, until they dropped anchor, he had to focus all his attention on keeping Myra's thoughts away from more testing with her swinging blade.