Riddle of the Seven Realms

by Lyndon Hardy

  Kestrel scanned the casino floor and saw the wave of a banner from another of the fortifications. A new cheer went up from the crowd. “Five, thirty-nine, and fifty-two,” a voice heavy with resignation sounded in the distance. “I may as well be next. It seems that at the last moment, my luck turned fickle. This fortification is made of anvilwood, not simple fir or pine like the rest.”

  The cheer reverberating in the stands suddenly stopped. Milligan nearly doubled over with his laughter. “Barrier logs made of anvilwood,” he said. “The custodians of the casino have prepared for this contest better than most.” He waved back at the glass bowl and the churning balls. “One, two, and three,” he said. “Let us proceed quickly so we can get on to the next.”

  Anvilwood, Kestrel thought quickly, the very reason for coming to the casino in the first place! He touched the rucksack still hanging on his back. Again he scanned the rising stadium seats and the array of contestants on floor. “Astron, where are you?” he muttered.

  He glanced down at Phoebe and shook his head. With a sigh, he settled beside her and watched the dance of tiny, white balls. With all the contingents on the casino floor, it would take some while to get to Myra. Maybe by then the demon would appear—or failing that he could figure out how to get a flame lit for Phoebe on his own.

  The roar of the crowd was deafening. Of all the contingents that had swarmed onto the casino floor so many hours before, only Myra and Jelilac remained. Kestrel felt the tension grow in Myra’s retainers. With each new challenger, they had hoped that Jelilac’s luck would turn, but it held steady and true. Some of the opponents had taken more effort to defeat than the others. For one, over seventy spheres of no consequence popped free of the miniature maelstrom before Jelilac received his third victory. Another actually had one of his selections and for a moment trailed only two to one. But in the end, Milligan’s master emerged triumphant over all, collecting the largesse of talismans and adding them to his store.

  “And now Myra.” Milligan pointed at the one fortification still occupied in the center of the floor. “What are your guesses, old crone? The hour grows late. We have been at this for the better part of a day.”

  Myra grasped the talismans about her neck and hesitated. She squinted at the bouncing spheres while the bowl was being reloaded and then around the vast interior of the casino, as if looking for a sign. “We both have warriors and shields still unspent,” she called out in a hoarse voice. “It has made no sense to bring the fated twelve, if they are not to be used.”

  “You talk as if you had a great store of wealth, Myra,” Milligan shot back. “As great as Jelilac’s own. But the ruse will not shake his beliefs. Having the dozen slash at one another is only a distraction. Eventually it will come down to the spheres.” He paused and waved. “If you wish to increase the stakes, then it will be done. All talismans forfeited by the loser as before—but in addition, the retainers are to be given to the victor to do with what he will.”

  Kestrel felt Phoebe tighten against him, but he did not know what to do. Myra or Jelilac—which one emerged the winner did not really matter; in either case, their fate was the same.

  Myra scowled. She quickly counted the talismans about her neck and then looked around the now nearly deserted casino floor. She rubbed her chin and shook herself with a great sigh. Grabbing the largest stone hanging on her chest, she stared back at Milligan. For a long moment she did not waver. Then a hint of a smile formed on her lips.

  “Done,” she said. “Only instead of three balls let us make it two.”

  Two of her retainers bolted to their feet but Myra motioned them to be still. “Why not?” she muttered. “You have seen what has happened to all the rest. This way our chance is the greatest, slim though it might be.”

  Milligan frowned. “But only two numbers increases the variability of the outcome even more,” he said. “A truly lucky stroke could win, despite where lies the preponderance of wealth.”

  “Precisely.” Myra cackled. “Luck favors the believer and I will take what is my best chance.” She stopped suddenly and then reached into the paraphernalia her retainers had lugged out onto the floor. Kestrel watched with surprise as she extracted the navigator’s almanac and opened it to a random page. He had thought it at the bottom of the sea; apparently it hadn’t quite gone overboard from the raft.

  “Eight and twelve,” Myra called out after she had stabbed her finger down onto the parchment. “If I cannot win by simple luck, then calculations shall help me instead.”

  She held up the volume with both hands over her head and turned slowly around so that everyone could see. The shouts of the crowd suddenly fell silent, as if their tongues had been sliced by a blade. For a long moment, no one stirred. Then a troubled murmur arose from the far end of the casino and flowed around the tiers.

  “Calculations,” Milligan said after a moment. “It is not our way—worse even than the slash of sword and clang of shield.”

  “Eight and twelve,” Myra said. “Perhaps now even Jelilac is beginning to have some doubts?”

  “Never!” Kestrel heard Jelilac’s voice boom out from the protection of the canvas framing. “The old woman is desperate. I choose ninety-three and one hundred forty-two. Let the mixing begin.”

  For a moment, Milligan did not move. Kestrel saw his shoulders twitch before he motioned for the air to begin pumping into the bowl. Almost instantly, a ball popped out the second tubing and everyone waited in hushed anticipation to see what it would be. “Thirty-four.” Milligan set it aside. “I admit that you will not be as easy as any of the rest, Myra, but even with calculations, Jelilac will prevail.”

  Myra said nothing but stared back with unblinking eyes. Kestrel could see the stringy muscles in her arms draw into tense bands. He had to try something. Anything was better than just waiting to see which would be the victor.

  “Yes, thirty-four,” he shouted suddenly. The prattle of numbers he had used many times before when posing as a magician came easily to his mind. “Eight and twelve—eight and twelve are twenty and thirty-four minus twenty is fourteen, which is just two numbers from twelve. Two numbers, two—two is precisely the total to be chosen—as the calculations said they would be.”

  Milligan frowned but said nothing. He reached for the next ball. “Ninety—” he began, but Kestrel cut him off.

  “Yes, in the nineties,” he said. “Eight times twelve is ninety-six. The numbers emerged according to plan.”

  Another ball bounced up to the exit orifice, but before it could start its journey it suddenly fell backward into the rest. The whirl of random motion died away. In an instant, all the spheres were lying quietly in the bottom of the bowl.

  Jelilac emerged from the confines of his shelter. With a waddling gait he walked out to stand at Milligan’s side.

  “I have stopped the blower,” Jelilac said as he glanced quickly at Myra’s tally on the board. “If you truly believe in the power of your calculation, I have another proposition to offer instead.”

  Myra tossed back her head and laughed, the tension suddenly gone. She glanced once at Kestrel and smiled. “You said that I would not cause doubt, Milligan,” she wheezed, “but your master’s words speak otherwise. Do not mind this old book. It does not really matter. It served, to pull a lucky number from the air. It means no more than that.”

  “I am willing to up the stakes still further,” Jelilac said, “and give you better odds.”

  “You heard what my minion said,” Myra answered. “The flow of luck is in my direction. There is no incentive for me to change.”

  “If we employ instead the giant spinner, I will give you nine portions out of ten of the field,” Jelilac said. “And in addition to the twelve, I propose that we become part of the prize pools ourselves.”

  “No, not the spinner,” Milligan said. “It is not proper. We have agreed not to succumb to the temptation that was offered. Let us continue with the dancing spheres. Surely you will prevail.”

  Myra
squinted. “Nine out of ten,” she said, “and your body to probe with my pinchers as I see fit.” She slapped the almanac at her side. “Why not?” she cackled. “Your luck is potent, but it cannot be that much greater than mine.”

  Jelilac grimaced and motioned back to his retainers. “I will be archon.” He answered the question forming on their lips. “If we do not duel with the same tools, then how can we be sure?”

  Milligan opened his mouth to protest, but Jelilac’s stare turned him aside. He stood silent while two of the master aleator’s retainers emerged from behind the tapestries carrying a large wooden frame into which a hundred pegs had been pounded in the outline of a great circle. With his head shaking, Milligan propped the panel upright. He offered no more aid as the helpers affixed a stout shaft onto an axle that protruded through the center of the frame. Kestrel saw that a flap of stiff leather was affixed to one end of the shaft and protruded just far enough to touch the circle of pegs.

  “You may start the spinner into motion, Myra,” Jelilac said with tension in his voice. “Then before it has completed its third spin, I will call out the ten numbers that I select as my own.”

  Myra stepped from the fortifications. With a flourish of her cape, she walked across the casino floor, avoiding the mines that remained. When she reached the frame, she bowed slightly toward each of the six sides of the casino. Then, with an elaborate gesture, she grasped the opposite end of the spinner from the one that held the leather flap. The few remaining murmurs of the crowd vanished in anticipation.

  “A moment.” Jelilac held out his hand. “Please do not begin until I am ready.” Moving as quickly as he could, he joggled back into the cover of his canvas-draped box. For a moment, there was silence. Myra scowled, but waited, a smile of anticipation growing on her face.

  Kestrel twisted uncomfortably. He had changed the contest slightly, but not enough to make any real difference. After one spin of the wheel, what hope did he and Phoebe have? If only there were some way to get a fire started before—

  “I smell smoke.” Phoebe suddenly sat up out of her slump at Kestrel’s side. “There behind the tapestries, I am sure of it. Jelilac is starting a fire.”

  There was a sudden whoosh of wind that billowed from behind the tapestries, straining them against the hooks that held them to the frame. Kestrel felt a sudden rush of heat and then the odor of rotten carrion, like that he had detected before.

  “Camonel,” he said. “Phoebe, can it be? It smells just like Camonel.” He shook his head, confused. “But Milligan said that the aleators avoided fire at all costs because of the second tenet.”

  Phoebe’s answer was cut off by Jelilac’s booming command. “Now,” he shouted. “Perform your best calculation, Myra, because no matter what the method, I am the one who will win.”

  Myra gave the bar a mighty wrench to send it whirling about. Just as she did, a burst of yellow flame shot upward above the tapestries for everyone to see. In a sudden panic, Jelilac’s retainers exploded out of the box, rushing onto the casino floor. Two immediately stepped onto mines, and startled cries mingled with a spray of hurling limbs. The spectators in the stands astride the tunnel behind Jelilac’s framework screamed in panic. Those in the rows nearest began climbing into the tiers above, trampling on those not fast enough to get out of their way.

  “Mark,” Camonel’s deep voice rumbled above the din. The djinn pushed aside the canvas and stepped next to the rotating spinner. “It passed vertical, master, just as I spoke.”

  “Jelilac, what is this?” Myra backed away from the demon that towered over her. “I saw this monster on the raft. You deal with the manipulator far more than have I.”

  “You stoop to using calculation. Then do not be surprised if it is employed by others.” Jelilac followed the djinn into the open. A dark curl of smoke indicated that the fire that summoned Camonel still smouldered inside. “I will be archon, woman,” he said. “Soon it all will be decided.”

  “Mark,” Camonel shouted again. “I have timed the initial rate of rotation, master. You have said that that would be enough.”

  Kestrel grabbed Phoebe by the arm, lifting her up to standing. They had another chance to bind Camonel to her will, and this time there would be no water to douse the flame inadvertently. He started to leap over the barrier and run to the demon, but then hesitated. He glanced at the craters and twisted bodies between his fortification and Jelilac’s canvas box. Scowling, he pulled her back down to safety.

  “There is too much risk of the mines,” he said. “Phoebe, you must try to control him from here.”

  “It is too far.” Phoebe shook her head. “I have already attempted the binding of his will, but the control of his master is too strong.”

  “Eighty-three through ninety-two,” Camonel boomed for all to hear. “One tenth of the numbers but that is the region in which the spinner will finally reside. My master has calculated it and there can be no doubt.”

  “Calculation,” someone shouted in the stands. “Not calculation! No!”

  “Calculation,” another echoed with a groan. “In the final battle, luck is pitted against calculation and skill.”

  Kestrel saw a wave of agitation radiate out from those nearest Jelilac’s box. The aleators in the stands were mere spectators no longer. Even those scrambling to safety slowed and turned back to watch. On the side of the casino farthest away from the action, a low murmur tinged with despair began to build and grow.

  “But if luck loses to some other method, then what is the purpose, what is the meaning?” Myra shrieked above all the rest.

  The moaning of the crowd increased. Kestrel saw an entire section clasp hands and begin swaying back and forth to the cadence of a chant: “Calculation, calculation and skill.”

  Kestrel felt a twinge in his stomach. The ground under his feet suddenly felt less firm. He glanced up at one of the large windows in the far wall and saw that apparently the fog had begun to move back onshore. A subtle vibration began tickling the soles of his feet and migrating up his legs into his spine. Obviously, the use of something other than luck in the confrontation of Jelilac and Myra was deeply disturbing to all those who watched. And somehow the mood was contagious, affecting everything about them as well.

  “Something is happening.” Kestrel drew Phoebe close. Something, something—the thought suddenly hit him—something like two realms of symmetry starting to merge.

  “Yes,” Phoebe said. “I feel it, too. Only this time, there is no other realm of which the aleators speak.” She glanced wildly at the dimming rays of the sun, filtering through the colored glass. She pressed herself into Kestrel’s side. “And if not merging, what transformation could it possibly be?”

  Kestrel looked helplessly at the distance to the fire behind the tapestries and the mighty djinn standing arms akimbo in front, watching the spinner slowing to rest. He felt the heel of his boot begin to sink into an oozy soup. Except for the burning tapestries, the high corners of the casino seemed to start fading away. Things were converging too fast. He would have to chance getting Phoebe closer to the demon, no matter what the risk.

  Kestrel took in a deep breath and prepared to vault over the barrier. Perhaps if he ran ahead, she would see where it was safe to follow. But before he could move, a new voice sounded from a tunnel behind him.

  “Stop,” it said. “The contest has not yet run its course. There is the entry of one more who destiny decrees will win. Yes, it is I, Byron, who has come as it has been preordained.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Will to Believe

  ASTRON looked out over the nearly deserted casino floor. Only two contingents remained of what initially must have been many. He saw the djinn Camonel standing next to a spinner that was gradually slowing to a stop. Behind him, Jelilac was motioning the sluggish beam onward so that it would come to rest just to the left of the vertical.

  Astron saw smoke curling above the canvas tapestries from the fire that had brought forth the demon and,
not far away, what looked like anvilwood in another of the low barricades. Near the center of the floor, the second group of aleators stood transfixed, all watching the final sweep of the spinner. Astron’s membranes flicked down over his eyes. In their midst, there could be no mistake; there was Kestrel with the pollen-filled knapsack still on his back.

  Astron looked out at the scatter of small craters and mangled bodies and hesitated. Kestrel would use some clever tactic, he thought, rather than rushing pell-mell into certain danger. His stembrain strained to be free, but, despite the urgency, he had to think and plan.

  Byron started out onto the casino floor. Astron tugged at his arm. “Why challenge two groups when, if you wait a moment, you will have to contend only with the victor?” the demon said. “Fate will determine which of them it is to be.”

  Byron grunted. He relaxed the tension in his sword arm. The blade slowly arched earthward and buried its tip into the soft ground. The aleators in the stands saw that the tall warrior had stopped his challenge and turned their attention back to the slowing spinner.

  “Ninety-one,” Camonel called out as it barely slid past one peg and then stopped as it touched another. “Ninety-one, just as it has been predicted.”

  The murmur of the crowd grew in intensity. Only a few shouted accolades pierced the indistinct rumble that coursed from tier to tier.

  “Your talismans, Myra.” Jelilac beamed in triumph. The aleator paid no attention to the waves of sound mounting behind him. “You were the most likely to offer serious competition. With your defeat, no other can seriously offer a challenge now.”

  “But you used calculation.” Milligan suddenly shook off his restraint. “It is not right. Not by such a means should you become the archon.”

  “The most trusted advisor is a position coveted by many.” Jelilac frowned in Milligan’s direction. “Do not protest too much, or I will have to select another.” He motioned to the retainers that remained, directing them to fan out and receive the spoils of their victory.