Riddle of the Seven Realms

by Lyndon Hardy

  Kestrel raised the fork cautiously and held it in front of his chest. His eyes darted quickly about the confines of the lair, trying to locate just exactly where he had materialized and hence where Astron was also likely to appear.

  “You speak in the tongue of men,” Kestrel said softly. “I understand even though I am not the one you seek.”

  “I heard your petty debate and the final resolution.” Elezar sagged to the cushion. “Since the outcome was the proper one, I did not interfere. Getting the harebell pollen to the one who reckons is all that is important now, despite the risk that Gaspar’s minions might see the transit. It is the last hope. If it fails, then I am resigned to what will follow.” Elezar waved at the fork. The edge of a smile tugged at his lips. “Put away the weapon,” he said. “I do not have the strength to harm you, mortal. If you strive for the same goals as my cataloguer, then it is not my intent to do you harm.”

  Kestrel eyed the prince, but could read nothing in the damaged face. “We had heard that Gaspar even drove you from your hidden node,” he said, “and pursued you into the very blackness of your realm.”

  “Gaspar does not have the wit to know where to look,” Elezar spat. “To find me in the well-lighted lair of the vanished cataloguer, after he once had determined it abandoned, is entirely beyond his ken.”

  Kestrel could not bring himself to relax. Astron should have appeared by now. Without the demon’s aid, who knew what Phoebe and Nimbia were getting themselves into? And a prince of demons, even if sorely wounded, would be more than a match for a man with no skills in wizardry.

  “Then what now?” he said cautiously. “What is the will of the prince?”

  “We will wait,” Elezar said. “Wait and see if Palodad has sufficient time to unlock the secret to the riddle.”

  Kestrel did not reply. He lowered himself to the stone floor, but kept the fork at his side. Imitating the impassive resignation of the prince, he steeled himself into inaction.

  Time dragged slowly by. For what seemed like eons, Elezar did not move. Occasionally a soft wheeze escaped from his lips. With each one, the glow in his eyes dimmed even further.

  Finally Kestrel could be still no longer. He stirred uncomfortably from where he had slumped against the wall. The inward sloping curve pressed against the base of his head and gave no support to his back. He glanced at Elezar, sitting in regal quiet on the cushion, and scowled.

  With each passing moment, his agitation had grown, but he did not know what to do about it. Hours must have passed since the prince lapsed into silence, and even though Astron had said that the flow of time was not quite the same between different realms, surely he would have appeared by now. He glanced again at Elezar’s crumpled form. Even if wounded, he thought, could a prince be persuaded to carry a single man to the lair of—

  “Gaspar, Gaspar, the prince of lightning djinns has observed my passage!” A sudden shriek cut into Kestrel’s thoughts. He looked up to see the devil that had transported Phoebe and Nimbia twitching with spasms on the landing just outside the entrance to the lair.

  “Grab control of your stembrain, or I will do it for you.” Elezar suddenly sprang to life. “Speak with coherence. I, your prince, demand it.”

  “He observed my passage to Palodad’s lair, and upon my return, forced upon me where you were. I, I am—”

  “Silence,” Elezar thundered. “The risk was worth taking. If you have failed, there is no point now in lamenting what might have been. Into the sky with you, assemble all that remain from their hiding places, and draw them here.” The prince looked about Astron’s artifacts and smiled. “Yes, here at the den of a mere cataloguer. For a final battle it is most fitting.”

  “If Gaspar has defeated you before, what hope do you have now?” Kestrel sprang to his feet. He felt his apprehension tighten like an alchemist’s vice. Everything was crashing down, just as Astron had feared from the first. Even Elezar seemed resigned to his fate, and Kestrel and his friends were in the middle of it, with little hope of escape.

  “Do not give up,” Kestrel said. “Get help from the other princes.”

  “More than half have thrown their lot in with Gaspar,” Elezar said. “The rest cautiously await the outcome before they declare. No, none in the realm of daemon dare light their domains to aid the one who is golden.”

  Elezar stopped speaking and, for a long moment, seemed to look past Kestrel into the stone wall behind. “At least it will not be surrender to the great monotony. The few weavings of energy I have saved for the last will give Gaspar as much pain as he plans to inflict upon me.”

  “If not your own kind, then from the other realms,” Kestrel said quickly. His thoughts spun. He would have to come up with a plan as he had never before. “From the archimage, the fey, the skyskirr, and the reticulates as well.”

  Elezar’s eyes narrowed. He eyed Kestrel speculatively. “The denizens of other realms regard my kind either with fear or loathing. What would make them want to enter into a struggle not their own?”

  “Let me handle that,” Kestrel said. “First the archimage, and then we can appeal to the others. Contact any wizard in the realm of men and state that you have news of the woodcutter and female wizard. I heard Alodar ask to be informed, just as we vanished into the universe of the fey.”

  Elezar was silent for a moment. “Your words disturb my stembrain,” he said. “I was prepared to meet Gaspar even on his own terms if there proved to be insufficient time to unravel the riddle. Now you give me one more tendril of matter to grasp. Even for a prince, there comes a moment when he must finally put aside the last of foolish hopes.”

  Kestrel waited without daring to speak again. Heart beats of time throbbed away. But finally a cloud seemed to lift from Elezar’s face. The fading spark in his eyes glowed with a new life and he nodded.

  “Tell each that you contact that they must first attempt to bridge through the flame,” the prince commanded the devil just as he was about to leave. “Get the message of the woodcutter to the archimage so that he in turn will try to contact me here.”

  The devil shuddered a final time. Then with a trembling beat of his wings, he fluttered away. Kestrel saw pinpoints of light in the distance behind him assembling into a precise row and Elezar followed his gaze.

  “Each one is a lightning djinn,” the prince said. “They are forming a barrier between me and Palodad’s lair. Soon they will move forward to attack us here. Your tongue must not only be glib but quick as well.”

  “The risk is a great one.” Kestrel heard Alodar’s words come from Elezar’s lips. The contact had been established far quicker than he had hoped, but, as he glanced out the entrance of the lair, he wondered if even what he proposed would make any great difference. The pinpoints of light had intensified to eye-stabbing glows. Their number had increased until it looked as if a continuous arc streaked across the black sky. With each passing moment, it grew thicker and longer, arcing outward to surround Astron’s lair so that there would be no escape.

  “But if it is not taken,” Kestrel shot back, “then the loss is certain.” Somehow the archimage was able to hear because of his contact with Elezar’s mind. It was as if the two were together in the confines of the hollow stone, rather than an indescribable distance apart.

  “When you agreed to help send Phoebe and me through the flames before,” Kestrel continued, “it was because of what would happen to the realm of men if Elezar should fall. Nothing has changed to alter the validity of your decision.”

  “I still am not totally sure of the truth of your words,” Alodar said. “And if I and the wizards of other realms come forward and fail, there will be no defenses left to be sure.”

  “Would you rather wait and take on Gaspar’s might one by one?” Kestrel said. “Which strategy offers you the better chance to turn aside the threat?”

  For a moment, there was silence. Elezar sat on the cushion, unblinking, with his hands folded into the lap of his tattered robe. “Your arguments are mo
st persuasive,” the demon mouthed Alodar’s words at last. “They ring true despite whatever other doubts I might have.”

  Kestrel felt a slight prickle of amazement mingle with the urgency that bubbled within him. He was using no deception at all. He did not have sufficient composure to think through all the twists and turns that would be necessary for one such as the archimage. And yet it was working. He was speaking the truth and Alodar was taking him at his word.

  “But perhaps most telling is the fact that you are there,” Alodar said. “There and willing to take the risks along with the rest. It is the mark of a hero, rather than one looking out only for himself.”

  Kestrel’s thoughts jerked to the side. “No, not a hero,” he said. “Not me. I am not concerned about helping to save the baseness of other men. It is only for myself, only for—”

  Kestrel stopped and slammed shut his mouth. Only for Phoebe, he thought—and for the reticulate warriors, for Nimbia’s underhill, and even for any of the unlucky aleators who still survived—any who had to endure the tortures of their fellows who did not care.

  The injustices that had befallen him were not unique; they extended through seven realms as well. And they would continue to do so until someone came forward and took the cause of many as his own, until someone like the archimage felt the duty to look beyond himself and to strive against the Prydwins, Jelilacs, and Gaspars to save the worthy and unworthy alike.

  The feeling of amazement grew. Was what he had been striving for on this quest really anything less? He could not turn aside now, regardless of what escape he suddenly was offered. If that was what constituted being a hero, then perhaps it was not such a foolish role after all.

  “Yes, I think that we will need someone to coordinate all of the contingents,” Kestrel heard himself say. “Someone with experience in all the realms on which we will call for aid. I am ready to serve. Even though it might be hopeless, I will carry out what clearly is my duty and that of no one else.”

  “Then it is decided,” Alodar said. “Send what demons through the flame that you can, Elezar. I will have the wizards ready to be ferried back for your aid.”

  “Next the fey,” Kestrel said to Elezar as Alodar’s presence faded. “And then the reticulates and perhaps the skyskirr as well.”

  A hint of annoyance at being ordered about washed across Elezar’s twisted face, but Kestrel hardly noticed. Despite the growing terror outside, he felt far better about himself than he had in a long, long time.

  “Nimbia, Nimbia are you safe?” Astron shouted as he squeezed through the vanishing opening between the realms. He felt the chill of nothingness on his legs and barely managed to pull them through with a loud pop just in time. What had been the realm of aleators was completely vanished, collapsed into nonexistence by the pressure of the void.

  Astron sagged to the familiar stone flooring of his lair in a heap. The struggle against Byron had been most draining and his body cried out to rest. But his stembrain still bubbled in agitation. He knew he could not stop, not until he was sure Nimbia was safe and his alone. Immediately, he must carry the harebell pollen to—

  Astron stopped. His lair was empty. They had gone on ahead without him. He rose to his feet, looking about wildly for some clue, and spotted the pen and ink next to the pile of fishbones where he had left them in what seemed like long ago. Hastily, he scooped the scrap of parchment from the ground and read the script that had been added to his own.

  Almost in disbelief, Astron looked out of the open portal to his lair and saw the glowing sky that confirmed that the words were true. Phoebe and Nimbia had been transported safely to Palodad, but Gaspar now assembled all of his might to strike a final blow. Elezar had gone to direct his resistance, while Kestrel, carried by a broad-winged devil, led the wizards assembled from many realms.

  As Astron slowly let the scrap fall back to the floor, a swarm of imps buzzed up from the stairwell, but he paid them no heed. The sky was almost as bright as day in the realm of men, so many djinns had Gaspar rallied to his side. With what meager forces Elezar had left, it was doubtful he would have any more need for his tiny entertainers.

  Only if Palodad were swift enough to test the pollen and show it blazing in triumph would any who followed Gaspar pause and reconsider that the basis for the confrontation had indeed been won. Otherwise Elezar was lost, and, in the end, all who strove for him as well.

  Astron looked at the sphere of bright lights converging on the darker knot of men and beings from other realms, now standing off in the distance and awaiting the strike. He reached out once with his empty hand, then pounded his sides in frustration. Astron, wingless Astron, the one who walked! In the end, he was reduced to being a mere spectator while others decided the fate of the realm.

  Astron pushed against the tug of his stembrain. It continued to stir and boil. There was something that still bothered him, some additional conclusion that could be drawn from all that he had learned. He settled on the cushion, not bothering to bat away the imps as they swarmed about his head.

  “Reality is a bubble,” he muttered. “I have seen realms created, merged, and destroyed. Aleators like Centuron believe that such destruction is preordained. Either the will to believe decays the pressure within or the bubble is pierced from—”

  Astron stopped. The already high state of agitation of his stembrain grew with a deep terror he had never felt before. Why the knowledge of fire in the realm of daemon held such power suddenly became clear. He knew why it was the ultimate precept, the greatest of them all.

  Astron bolted to his feet and ran back to the open portal. “There is a reason why there is no fire in our realm,” he shouted in panic, “a reason most profound. Fire breaks down the barrier that keeps a bubble whole; it creates an opening in the surface that protects it from the void.”

  Astron looked at the still brightening sky. He knew that the distances were still far too great for his voice to carry, but he felt he had to continue on. The battle between Elezar and Gaspar suddenly was of insignificant consequence compared to what really was at stake.

  “For all the other realms, the opening is to our very own,” he yelled. “The pressure on both sides of the breach is the same. Except for creating a portal of transport, nothing else happens as a result.

  “But a flame in the realm of daemon—think of it! When it pierces the skin of the bubble, where then will it lead? Not to another of the realms; other flames already provide those connections. No, it can only be to the void. Like the spheres of the aleators that surrounded the talismans, a small rupture lets out the essence inside. The realm of daemon would collapse into nothingness just as surely as if we had ceased to believe.

  “It is not only our own universe that would wither away,” Astron said. “All the other realms are connected to ours by the other flames. Like the merged realms of symmetry, they would all vanish as well, first oozing into ours and then following us into the chilling void. It would mean the end of every thing, all of existence, all that there is.”

  Astron shook his head and tried to regain a measure of control. The battle of warring princes for supremacy in a single realm were only shadows of what confronted him. The death of a single realm or two was nothing compared to the end of them all!

  “But who would wish such a fate on all of existence?” Astron wondered aloud. “Who could be so tired of living that he would succumb to the great monotony in such a fashion? Who would have the power to manipulate—”

  He stopped and tried to look beyond the glare of the djinn light. “Oh, what have I done?” he shrieked. The greatest insight of all descended on him like a weight of the densest matter. “Nimbia, Nimbia,” he moaned. “I have sent you to the worst possible place.

  “It is Palodad.” He whirled and explained to the buzzing imps. “Palodad, the one who reckons, is behind it all. I now understand it so clearly. He is the old one like Centuron whose only desire is to see the final end. He is the one who controlled events that combined two real
ms. He is the one that cut away the beliefs of all the aleators so that they vanished as well. Yes, who else but a demon would design an almanac with entries beyond the lifespan of a man. Who else but a demon would think it important to change the format of the entries so that the user would not get bored over such a span and succumb to the great monotony. Who else provided Jelilac with the calculation of where his spinner would come to rest.

  “It is all part of his plan, the same one that he constructed to get harebell pollen to him for the final step. It is Palodad who has computed everything along the way. Gaspar’s challenge, sending me on the quest, instructing Camonel merely to appear dominated by Phoebe while retaining allegiance to his prince—there was no other wizard involved at all. It is Palodad who must be stopped; Gaspar is merely a cog in his machine like the rest.”

  Astron looked at the converging djinns. Somehow Gaspar’s rush must not only be halted but pierced as well. He had to get to Palodad’s lair and stop the pollen grain from being ignited. Once it was ablaze, it would be the beginning of the end. He was the only one who knew the true peril. Not only Nimbia but all of existence was forfeit if he should fail.

  He looked at the imps still swarming about him and grabbed at the thought that sprang into his head. “Servants of Elezar,” he commanded. “Each of you, grab hold of my flesh where you can. Together you will transport me across the realm.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The Final Computation

  KESTREL watched Gaspar’s demons zoom in for their first attack and held his breath. His pulse raced. What he had chosen to do was right, but he could not keep the chilling reality of the most likely outcome from his thoughts. Even with a score of wizards from each of the realms of men, fey, and skyskirr, Elezar’s forces were spread far too thin. The hastily constructed inner sphere of lesser devils that faced the lightning djinns was outnumbered at least three to one.