Riddle of the Seven Realms

by Lyndon Hardy

  Kestrel pressed his foot down on the unseen blackness beneath him, still not quite believing it was there. He and the legion of reticulates stood in relative darkness on what Elezar had called an unoccupied node. Scattered throughout the realm were many such points, the prince has said, loci that remained fixed in the sky and did not fall toward whatever tugged on everything from below. On them, the djinns and lesser devils accumulated and weaved their meager treasures of matter, transforming the blank nothingness into elegant distractions that forestalled the great monotony. Kestrel pushed aside the wonder of it all. For now, although surrounded by Gaspar’s forces like the rest, Abel and the others were ready to act in synchrony, and that was all that mattered.

  Near the center of the spheres of converging attackers, not far from Astron’s lair, Elezar blazed with a brilliant light, no longer hiding, but daring Gaspar to come forward. In the direction of Palodad’s domain Kestrel had deliberately posted the fewest of the defenders in the hopes that, when the lightning djinns did swoop for the kill, their path would be directly through the middle of the two lines of waiting warriors.

  The already-bright sky suddenly blossomed into splashes of intense color. Simultaneously, Gaspar’s lieutenants unleashed bolts of searing energy at those who rose to fight them. Kestrel saw two devils and a smaller demon immediately enveloped in crackling tendrils of plasma, their shrieks of pain blotted by the rumble of the blow. He clenched his fists. Soon, one way or another, he would experience the fate of the hero.

  More demons streaked outward, ducking past the spray of ichor and bone and launching strikes of their own. Behind them, broodmothers beat the air with heavy wings, carrying wizards in their outstretched talons. Gaspar’s lesser devils swooped in behind their lieutenants, eyes wide with the choice of targets and sticky drool streaming from their chins as they contemplated the lust of battle.

  Bursts of light flashed into incandescence. Kestrel had to shield his eyes with upflung arms. Three more defenders exploded in balls of boiling flesh, then a half dozen more. The deep booming laugh of Gaspar’s lieutenants resonated with the rolling echoes of the explosions.

  Still Elezar’s defenders rose to meet the attack. The broodmothers climbed unrelentingly upward and the wizards they carried projected their wills. Kestrel saw the arm of one of Gaspar’s lieutenants suddenly jerk in a spasm. A half-formed streak of energy sputtered and flew wide of its mark. The djinn scowled and turned his head to launch another bolt at the one who had interfered with his thoughts. Before he could, a brown-skinned devil soared past his outflung arm, blasting out with three sharp stabs of crackling pain. Elezar’s smaller devils closed in on the mightier djinns. Even tiny imps harried them in vicious swirls, biting earlobes and cheeks when flailing hands could not keep them away.

  But then a random blast ricocheted from a defensive shield and struck a wizard from the realm of the skyskirr squarely in the chest. One of Gaspar’s minions shook his head at the sudden release from sluggishness. With a wild yell, he waved to the others, indicating whom they should attack.

  All around the enveloping sphere, the word passed as fast as the bolts of plasma. Elezar’s demons were ignored; the strikes were aimed at the broodmothers and the loads that they carried. The defending demons swooped to intercept the new focus of attack, but the first were blasted out of the way. One wizard fell, then two more. The others tried to maintain their concentration, but each misdirected bolt now did not stray as far from its intended target. The uprush of defenders halted. Gradually they began to give ground.

  The warriors on the dark node stirred uncomfortably, but Kestrel indicated for them to be still. He glanced at Elezar and then back to the crumbling defense. Just as it looked as if the thin surface of protection would be pierced in a half dozen places, he saw the prince give the sign. The broodmothers and other demons along the deliberately weakened corridor suddenly turned in mid-flight and began to dive. With wings folded, they plunged toward Elezar, shooting directly between Kestrel and the two lines of reticulates.

  For a moment Gaspar’s minions hesitated. Then, with a shout of triumph, they came plunging after. The lieutenants saw the collapse. As Kestrel had hoped, they abandoned their own battles to join in the destruction of Elezar the prince. In an undisciplined riot, the mighty djinns circled to where the resistance had suddenly become nonexistent and poured down the corridor, striving to be the first to strike a blow at the one who waited below.

  Elezar released two tremendous blasts of power of his own just as the first of Gaspar’s devils sailed into Kestrel’s midst, forcing them to stop and hastily throw up their wings to shield off the blast.

  “Now,” Kestrel shouted. “Demon of many heads, close your ranks just as we have planned.”

  The reticulates on the ends of the two rows nearest the djinns smartly heeled and rotated their lines inward. Like the lid of a box, in synchronized step they closed off the path to Elezar, presenting a perfect repetition of the lines that flanked the demons on either side.

  More of Gaspar’s lieutenants raced up in a flurry of wings. Crashing into one another, they looked puzzled at the silent lines of men linked together and marching in perfect step.

  “And the bottom,” Kestrel shouted when the last of a dozen had come. “Seal the one remaining means of escape and then they are ours. What can be the hope of a single djinn, no matter how mighty, against a foe with eight score heads and twice as many arms with which to unleash his awesome power?”

  Kestrel bit his lip as he peered over Abel’s shoulder. The lines of reticulates swung shut just as had the ones in front. For a precious moment, none of the djinns within the box moved or released any of their energy.

  “Yes, eight score bodies all connected into one,” Kestrel prattled on. “It must be so. Look at the unity in movement. Surely that would be impossible if each were somehow disjoined. One hundred and sixty torsos and hence one hundred and sixty times the strength. You have met your superior, minions of Gaspar. Surrender now so you can observe the extent of this power.”

  Kestrel reviewed his logic quickly. The demon mind freezes with the unusual, and it does not immediately consider the possibility of falsehood. With just a moment’s more hesitation, a major part of Gaspar’s strength would be neutralized.

  “Inward with swords drawn,” Kestrel commanded. “They will not resist one obviously mightier, one who cannot be brought down, no matter what happens to a single limb.”

  For a moment the lieutenants remained silent and unmoving, almost mesmerized by the cadence of the reticulates’ march. Then one shook his head. What looked like a jagged bolt of blue lightning arched from his fingertips toward the warrior who was closest.

  The reticulate exploded backward from the line with blood boiling from his chest, but he did not cry out. The line immediately closed and, in perfect cadence, resumed the march inward toward the puzzled djinns.

  Another blast erupted and a third. Two more reticulates were hurled away, but their positions were again immediately filled, pulling the perimeter even tighter.

  A fourth lieutenant raised his arm with sparks crackling between his fingertips but then hesitated. His eyes danced wildly as he tried to decide where to aim his bolt. Finally he slumped against the djinn next to him and let the plasma die away. Kestrel saw what he hoped was the beginning of despair begin to form in the devil’s eyes.

  “Who plays with the minds of my lieutenants?” A gruff voice behind Kestrel shot a sudden chill up his spine. He turned to see Gaspar hovering behind him, not quite touching down to land on the darkness of the node. The prince had not rushed forward with the rest.

  Kestrel looked at the huge form of the djinn and shuddered. All the terror that man had for demonkind spilled over him in a crashing wave. Meeting Astron, Elezar, and even Camonel was one thing, but the presence of Gaspar was overwhelming. He saw the crackles of energy arching between the fingertips, the twitch of massive slabs of muscle barely under control, the swarm of mites about the bristly
chin, and worst of all, the smouldering eyes that were focused on him alone.

  “Who twists their minds?” Gaspar repeated. “Who has closed off even the suggestion that all they need do is fly upward and then they would be free?”

  “It is the many-headed demon from the far reaches of the realm,” Kestrel forced himself to say. “Palodad found him and instructed him in Elezar’s defense. You may as well surrender as well.”

  “Palodad? Palodad helping Elezar, you say?” Gaspar tossed back his head and laughed. “Your words do not match the facts, mortal, and I have been warned there might be such as you.” The demon looked about at the last of Elezar’s defenders fighting his lesser devils. “Even without my lieutenants, the outcome is still determined—although it might take a little longer than had originally been calculated. And since you are the apparent cause of the delay, it is only fitting that you also provide my diversion until it is done.”

  Astron ignored the barbs of pain that stabbed his back and legs. It was better that the grips of the imps were sure, rather than comfortable. He did not like the heavy and labored sound of their buzzing wings, but what would happen if they faltered, he could not afford to dwell upon.

  Astron looked back at the sphere of Gaspar’s minions converging on his lair. He had half expected to be blasted out of the sky by one of them as he struggled away, but they all had rushed past in their haste to attack the prince. Evidently, one small demon in a cloud of imps was something that easily could be handled later.

  The escape gave him little comfort. A few moments more of existence was all that he had gained, unless he could stop Palodad from lighting the harebell pollen. His stembrain bounced around the confines of his mind, unable to find peace with what it knew. He could no longer force it back into a quiet slumber. Only by straining with all his thoughts could he keep some degree of control on the impulses which threatened to fling his body into twitching spasms.

  Inwardly focused, Astron did not note his passage through the darkness of the realm or the descent down Palodad’s long entrance tunnel. Only by forcing his arm to move in clumsy jerks was he able to fling aside the barrier that opened into the interior that was blazing with light.

  As the imps lowered him to the ledge that circumnavigated the huge globe, Astron froze for a moment, transfixed as he had been before by the enormous display of matter, the bizarre arrays of bound devils, the tugging fetters, and the booming cadence of whirling machines. Somewhere in the midst of it all was Nimbia—Nimbia and the pollen that had to be destroyed.

  Astron ran to the first pulley-basket and climbed inside. He unwound the rope from its stay and began lowering himself hand over hand into the interior of Palodad’s domain. His memories of the first visit were hard to keep in focus, but at each transit he was able to recall the direction he should take.

  While he navigated the vast interior, Palodad’s giant machine clanked onward, oblivious of his presence. The small, free-flying sprites darted from array to array, shuttling messages to the demons who were bound. The intricate lines of djinns who flipped from upright to standing on their heads paid him no heed when he passed.

  Finally Astron spied the central platform that contained the plane of shimmering glowsprites. Huddled in front of the screen, clasping the pollen in his hands, was the ancient prince. Only hints of his raspy voice could be heard over the background, but Palodad was evidently waving his treasure about to two captives imprisoned in cages to his left.

  Nimbia and Phoebe! Astron stopped his rush. They looked unharmed; but now that he was here, what exactly was he to do? Palodad could summon any of a hundred djinns to snare him like the others. How could a cataloguer, and one barely in control at that, stop a prince of demons who had plotted for eras before Astron was even hatched? What good was it to have guessed the answer to the riddle, if the final result was the same in the end?

  Astron’s panic grew. He felt his limbs stiffen. He knew that this time he would be unable to make them move. He strained to open his mouth and yell, knowing not what, but even his jaws grew rigid. Like a statue of inert matter, he watched Palodad cackle and preen with his prize.

  The old prince seemed to babble randomly for a few moments. Then a motion on the screen caught his eye. He glanced upward and watched for a moment in silence. Finally he threw back his head and laughed raucously, his frail voice managing to be heard even over the clatter.

  “It is time,” Palodad burbled. “It is time for the final ingredient to come.” He whirled and looked directly in Astron’s direction. “Do not bother that your mobility is gone, cataloguer,” he said. “Sprites are on their way to bring you to my presence.” He waved his arm about the expanse of his domain. “You have come in duty to your prince, just as my calculations said that you would.”

  Astron should have felt shock at Palodad’s awareness of his presence, but he did not. Only dimly was he aware of being lifted and brought to stand directly in front of the prince.

  “It is about time,” Palodad continued, a thick drool beginning to form down the side of his chin. “The ultimate precept is about time and nothing else. Time, time, time—of all the forces, it is the greatest, relentlessly pressing onward, unable to be turned aside by any of the other princes.

  “But my power is by far more potent still—more so than Gaspar with his bolts of lightning or even Elezar and his keenness of mind. I will not merely harass time in its passage, but stop it altogether. The pollen at your feet, cataloguer, is the kindling, the great store of matter I have accumulated over the eons is the fuel. I will destroy this realm and all the others that connect to it. When I am done, there will be nothing left to measure the tick of time’s passage. It will be gone. I will have been the one to see it finally destroyed.”

  Astron felt his eyes stiffly glance down at the pollen grain at Palodad’s feet, a small shred of puzzlement tugging at the muscles in his face.

  “You wonder why I have not already set it ablaze, do you not?” Palodad said. “Think, cataloguer! Besides the fuel and the kindling, what is the third ingredient for a flame?” Palodad’s rheumy eyes widened. He pressed the metal ball in his hand against Astron’s chest.

  “It is the spark, the spark that ignites the kindling and sets the events on their way, a special spark that only a most unique demon can provide. That is the final ingredient, cataloguer. That is why I had to bind you to the quest, to manipulate things so carefully that in the end you would be here.”

  Astron tried to shake his head in protest, but Palodad ignored him and rambled on. “Yes, the spark cannot come from any demon; my calculations have shown me that just any shape and intensity of the energy will not do. It must originate from one for whose entire existence the stembrain has remained under control, a clutch brother of mighty djinns, but one who has repressed even the slightest hint of undisciplined thought.”

  Palodad pressed his face against Astron’s own. “Now, cataloguer, to make the final calculation complete. Surrender, surrender at last to what has churned within you for so long.”

  Again Astron attempted to shake his head. He was merely a cataloguer, a stunted djinn without wings, one who could not weave. How could he provide the essence of what the mad demon sought? It could not be true, and yet—As the feelings churned within him, Astron could not deny what the prince had said.

  Palodad was correct, the certainty swelled. He had been correct from the first. All the events had been calculated and there was no other outcome possible. The mad one’s great machine, his incredible store of matter, and the pollen that would surely ignite—there was no logical way to resist. Not only would everything that existed vanish totally, but he, Astron, the one who walked, was to be the instrument for that destruction.

  Astron tried to cry out, but he felt his final control slipping away. A ripping pain coursed through him, as if his very being were being torn apart. Thoughts exploded in all directions and bounced about his head. Through eyes wet with tears, he saw Nimbia’s face contort with concern
. He felt a strange tingling and then sharp nips of pain. His stembrain danced as it had never done before. Crackles of energy popped from his ears and raced down his arms. Purple and brilliant red streamers surged to his back and then onto his thighs. Helplessly, he saw Palodad kick the pollen grain between his feet, and the angry pulses of energy spurted and jumped to meet it.

  Astron felt himself slipping away into a maelstrom of confusion. The lust for destruction within him grew. With the last shred of consciousness, he struggled to pull back the crackling power that radiated from him and keep it away from the prickly sphere waiting for its touch. But he could not hold back the flood. Past his knees, the sheets of plasma danced down onto his shins. White-hot sparks exploded out into the air. In a brilliant flash, globs of pulsing energy rained onto the floor.

  “I have let you agonize long enough in anticipation.” Gaspar stepped forward into the darkness of the node. “Now you shall experience a hint of what truly is to come.” He extended his arm and pointed at Kestrel’s chest. A tiny arc of energy shot from the demon’s fingertip and struck the woodcutter just below the throat.

  Kestrel staggered to one knee as the stab of pain exploded across his torso and ran down his arms. He gasped, then gritted his teeth, determined not to cry out. For the longest while, Gaspar had stood silently taunting him while the battles behind the two of them still raged. Now only a few cries and bursts of light illuminated the darkness of the demon realm. Elezar’s last defenders swarmed about their prince, but not even the most hopeful could now dispute the final result.

  “What, no pleas for mercy?” Gaspar said. “No appeal to some better part of my nature to make the ending swift?” The djinn stepped forward and grabbed Kestrel beneath the arms and lifted him effortlessly to eye level. “You will grovel before I am done, mortal, grovel like all the rest when they feel the wrath of the prince whose power is the greatest.”