by Lyndon Hardy
Nimbia reached out and placed her hand lightly on Astron's shoulder. "Thank you," she said, seeming to ignore completely his sudden discomfort. "That is exactly what I needed. You serve your hillsovereign better than many of my own kind."
Astron managed to shake his head, straining against the tightening tendons. Then he caught Kestrel entering the throne room and felt a sudden relief at the human's presence.
"Yes, I am finally coming," Astron said. Awkwardly he rose to his feet and adjusted the pack on his back. "A final word with the queen to learn more of the dangers."
Kestrel shrugged and motioned over his shoulder. "Walk with the rest of us now or catch up later," he said.
Kestrel left the throne room as rapidly as he had come. Astron scrambled to follow. Another confusion had piled on top of the rest. He had not spoken to Nimbia of dangers. For the first time in his life, just like a human, he had told an untruth.
The trek to the glen of harebells proceeded uneventfully. The constant twilight did not waver. No one else was seen on the grassy trails. Shortly after Kestrel and the fey arose from their second sleep, the party began climbing a final hillock crested with giant ragwort and broad-leaved thyme. Astron inhaled deeply the aromatics which hung heavy in the air.
Behind them, the lush green carpet spread as far as the eye could see, eventually vanishing into the softness of fog and mist. Like blemishes on smooth skin, clumps of mushroom, golden cowslips, and foxglove scattered across the low-lying grasses indicated the presence of springy marshes with ground far wetter than the rest.
"What is it?" Astron heard Kestrel growl ahead of him. "We have come too far to begin slacking the pace now."
He looked up the trail and saw that the fey had stopped and Kestrel had almost closed the distance between them. Kestrel scowled and flexed his back, pulling at the straps of the rucksack he bore. Apparently the adjustment did not help; in irritation, he slipped out of the burden and let it fall heavily to the ground.
"The shrill vibrations are worse than I have ever known them before," the first of the fey said as Astron caught up with the rest.
"What vibrations?" Kestrel shook his head. "I do not hear a thing." He flexed his back again. "All I know is that we have been pushing hard for two days and the end is in sight. Now is not the time to have second thoughts."
"The irritation is part of the effect," another of the fey said. "Perhaps the sounds are too high for your ears, but they are there, nonetheless. You feel them, even if you cannot hear."
Astron strained to catch some sense of what the others were talking about, but he heard nothing. Although demon sight was keen, their hearing was inferior to that of many other beings. Nor did he feel any of Kestrel's irritation or the growing agitation of the fey.
"The risk is too great." The first shook his head. "Better to bear the burdens of Prydwin's pollensacks than not to exist at all. Your words may have been smooth enough for the queen, but she does not risk the dangers of the glen herself."
He flung off his pack and grabbed at the arm of the second. For a moment the two hesitated and then, after wide-eyed glances back up the hill, they bolted in the other direction, gathering speed as they ran. The panic was contagious. The remaining four did not even bother to lighten their loads. Fighting each other for the center of the trail, they sprinted off after the others.
Kestrel watched the fey depart and kicked at his own rucksack. Astron shrugged but said nothing. He stepped past and continued up the slope. For a long while, Kestrel stood with hands on hips scowling. Then he gathered up his equipment and scrambled to catch up with the demon. In a moment they were peering out from under the cover of a ragwort leaf into the glen of the harebells.
The hill sloped downward from the ridge under a cover of thick-leaved grasses, just as it had on the other side. But midway down the slope, a wall of skyward-pointing leaves poked out of a heavy mist and blocked the view. From what looked like a thick forest of upraised green swords, fragile stalks rose even higher, almost to the crests of the surrounding hills. Impossibly slender, the ropelike shoots wavered in gentle rhythms, as if trying by an act of delicate balance to keep from crashing to the ground. And on the end of each, looping over and hanging as a massive weight, was a deep-bowled blossom that swung back and forth. AH of the flora of the realm possessed massive proportions, but the harebells seemed among the largest of all. A man or demon could easily hide within a single flower, if he climbed that high.
After a moment's observation, Kestrel stirred and started down the hillside, but Astron grabbed his arm and held him back. The demon pointed at a hint of blurry motion above the mist and then at a second and a third. One of the harebells rattled with energy. Brilliant orange-and-black stripes emerged from the petals and then hovered still.
"Bees!" Kestrel exclaimed as the recognition came to him. "Giant bees the size of the flowers." He put his hands over his ears. "And the noise-it is their wings. They buzz so fast that one can barely hear."
Astron looked at the large insect before it darted away. Knowing what to look for, he spotted several more flitting through the flowers. Large, multifaceted eyes, like great blackened shields, rode above a mouth siphon bristling with golden hairs. The wings were a blur about the bright abdomen, to which were attached legs folded in an intricate maze. From the rear protruded the sharp tip of the stinger, glistening with venom. Astron shook his head. Judging from the size, the poison would be totally unnecessary. The thrust of the lance would bore right through the chest as surely as a shaft of steel.
"If it were not for the tales of no one returning, we could risk it," Kestrel said. "Just walk out and pick a stalk that none of the bees seems interested in. Perhaps we could even shake some of the pollen to the ground."
Astron did not immediately respond. Quickly he ran over in his mind what he had learned of bees in the realm of men. "Smoke," he said after a moment. "Perhaps the ones that venture close can be subdued, if we surround ourselves with sufficient soot and ash."
"There is little here that will burn." Kestrel shook the leaf overhead to release a shower of water. "Nothing about is sufficiently dry."
"There is one thing," Astron said. He reached into his pack and pulled out the single grain of harebell pollen he had brought with him to ensure positive identification. Delicately, he placed it on the ground just beyond the cover of the ragwort, frowning in distaste at the many prickly barbs that pierced his fingertips.
He withdrew one of the oil bladders he had used when studying thaumaturgy and stretched it into a crude lens with his thumbs and forefingers. "I had wanted to try the experiment when we got above ground, anyway," he explained as he adjusted the focus. "Even with diffuse light, the energy might be converged enough if the material is sufficiently combus-"
The harebell pollen grain suddenly began to smoulder. A ringlet of dense black smoke bubbled from the surface and rose into the air. Kestrel coughed. Astron put down the lens. He saw the surface of the pollen glow into incandescence around the origin of the fire and the circle slowly begin to spread outward in a growing ring. The smoke thickened and cascaded from the pollen in billowing waves, far in excess of what one would expect from such a small amount of flame. Like a black fog, it began rolling down the hillside toward the harebells.
"Smoke subdues bees in the realm of men." Astron motioned Kestrel to follow him as he stepped forward from under cover. He stopped and picked up the smouldering grain. "Let us move quickly before it burns itself out."
Kestrel watched Astron proceed halfway down the slope and then raced to catch up. Together they reached the slender stalks of the harebell without alarming any of the bees which buzzed overhead.
"You stay here and keep the fire going," Kestrel said when they reached the base of the nearest flower. "I will climb up and shake loose what I can."
Astron nodded and watched Kestrel wrap himself around the ropelike stem that soared into the air. The demon placed the pollen grain at the base of the plant. With both hands,
he fanned the dense smoke sluggishly upward, enveloping Kestrel as he slowly rose.
Kestrel reached the bowed apex of the harebell without incident. Then, letting his feet hang free, he descended hand over hand onto the bowl of the flower itself. Astron watched him tentatively test the strength of an individual petal and then pause, apparently trying to figure out the best way to get inside.
Two of the bees swooped in Astron's direction; but at the last moment, they both turned aside and buzzed off toward different flowers. Evidently the smoke was not something that they voluntarily wanted to encounter. Astron kept fanning the heavy billows outward and upward, watching warily for any signs of agitation among the darting insects.
He looked up to see Kestrel dangling in midair, one hand holding the tip of a bluish petal and the other reaching for the knobby stamen that protruded from the center of the bowl. In an instant, Kestrel vanished inside the bloom. Then a moment later, a shower of pollen grains just like the one that was burning began to cascade downward to where Astron stood.
Astron stopped his fanning and removed his pack from his back. Scampering about like a small child, he harvested the grains and stuffed them into the empty pouch. He gathered a dozen grains and then three or four more until the pack was filled. He brushed his hands with satisfaction. Nimbia would be well pleased with what they had done.
When the flap was secured and the pack returned to his back, he glanced at the burning pollen grain and saw the color of the smoke lighten into soft grays. The burning ring of fire started to sputter. Only a tiny disk remained of what once had been a sizable volume. He looked upward to call Kestrel down and his stembrain suddenly jolted in spasm by what he saw.
The bright abdomen of one of the bees protruded from the flower into which Kestrel had vanished. A second was buzzing angrily around the stem, apparently awaiting his turn. Astron reached back to untie the pack, but then he saw the wings of the first bee flutter to life in agitation. Its stinger began to extend and the entire body contort inward toward the blossom.
Astron shook his head savagely to rid himself of his stiffness. He bent forward and blew on the smouldering pollen grain, bringing the flames back to life. A wave of smoke billowed out over the ground and covered his feet in inky blackness.
Astron started to fan the coiling tendrils skyward; then thought better of it. They would be too diffuse at the height of the blossom. He grabbed the grain gingerly in one hand and cupped its prickly surface carefully against his tunic. Savagely pushing aside yet another wish for wings, he grabbed the stalk and awkwardly began to climb.
Astron heard a high-pitched whine for the first time as he struggled upward, evidently caused by the confines of the harebell petals against the insect's wings. In agonizing slowness, he proceeded, occasionally catching glimpses of Kestrel's dark silhouette through the translucent blues of the petals. The human's body was pushed up into a tight ball at the very base of the flower, trying to avoid the larger blob maneuvering itself deeper into the bowl.
Finally, Astron reached the height of the drooping calyx of the harebell. All he could see of the flower's interior was blotted by the carpet of coarse orange-and-black hairs on the back of the bee. He wrapped his legs as securely as he could about the swinging stem and stretched out his hand containing the burning pollen grain.
Only a small curved disk remained of what once was a sizable sphere. He blew down the length of his arm but the flame responded only sluggishly. A few wisps of black rose into the bowl of the flower. Astron exhaled vigorously, pushing as much life as he could into the remains of the smoke. The twitching of the bee as it twisted itself deeper into the harebell slowed but did not stop altogether.
Astron looked at the remains of the pollen grain and the progress of the bee. Something more desperate would be needed if Kestrel was to be saved. Almost without thinking, he discarded the last dying embers and coiled himself up into a ball on the wavering stem. Then kicking as best he could, he hurled himself across the distance to the dangling flower, grabbing the hairs on the bee's back with both his hands.
With a noise like ripping paper, the bee's claws tore through the petals as the added weight pulled it downward. In an instant, the insect was dragged free; with Astron clinging to its back it hurled toward the ground.
Once free of the confines of the blossom, the huge wings exploded into a blur of action. Stinging blasts of cold air raced across Astron's body as the insect tried to right itself. The bee lurched to the right and Astron felt a stab of pain in his shoulder as he struggled to maintain a grip. With a flip that hurled Astron up over the insect's back, the bee wobbled into a horizontal position. But the ground came rushing up too fast. With a jarring thud, they crashed into the ground.
Astron felt the air rush from his lungs as he slammed into the bristly back. Stunned, he rolled to the side and fell to the ground. The bee tried to rise on its legs, but only uncoordinated spasms shook its body. Its wings fluttered out of synchronization, blowing up a scatter of dewdrops among the wide blades of grass that covered the slope.
Astron looked quickly about, trying to clear his vision. He saw motion near the base of the stem and guessed that Kestrel was scrambling to safety. A pungent odor began to fill his nostrils; he saw the stinger of the bee at his side fully extended and glistening with a foul-smelling oil. In awkward steps on three legs, the insect was gradually turning its abdomen about to where Astron swayed as he tried to regain his composure. His head still rang from the contact and, against his will, he fell to one knee.
"Come on," Kestrel shouted behind him. "Somehow they can communicate. Look, the others are coming to the aid of the one you brought down."
Astron felt a firm grip under his arm and rose reluctantly to his feet. He followed Kestrel's tug and began to place one foot in front of another. Almost mindlessly, he picked up speed and began running up the slope. The ringing in his head grew more intense and almost painful. He placed his hands over his ears, trying to concentrate on keeping up with the human as he ran.
Almost without knowing, they reached the ragwort and burst over the hill crest. Astron's vision began to clear; the high buzz in his ears started to fade away. In a few moments, they had raced down onto the wet flatlands and were heading back to Nimbia's underbill.
"You did it again, Astron," Kestrel said after they had caught their breaths. "You saved me when you had no real cause. First Phoebe and then you. I'm starting to expect it. It's almost enough to restore my faith in human nat-"
Kestrel paused, looked at Astron's demonic features carefully, and then laughed. "Well, maybe that would be going just a bit too far," he said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nimbia's Challenge
ASTRON and Kestrel retraced their journey across the hills and glens as rapidly as they could. Without the fey to guide them and no directional aids in the sky, their progress was slowed. More than once, they wandered away from the faint trails and were set right only by Astron's keen eye and memory for detail. It was only after Kestrel had risen from his fifth sleep that they estimated that Nimbia's underhill was drawing near.
The last lush green hill beckoned them forward. Sparse groupings of blooming foxglove and withered cowslip past its prime dotted the hillocks. A carpet of ferns crowded close onto the muddy trail that squished in wetness with each step.
"So you knew nothing of thaumaturgy before possessing the archimage's book," Kestrel said as he paused for breath where the slope steepened. "Burning lenses and alchemical balloons. You are well on the way to becoming a master of many arts yourself."
Astron shook his head. "No, as I have tried to explain, nothing I have done involves any magical skill. I have learned only of adjuncts that can be used independent of the crafts-by you as well as any other."
"This journey has given me no more knowledge of the magical arts." Kestrel shook his head. "Indeed, if it were not for Phoebe's safety, I would not even be here." He shielded his eyes from the diffuse glare, trying to catch sight of som
ething familiar. "Come," he said, "we have wasted too much time already."
"It is because I am a cataloguer," Astron continued as they resumed their march. "Unlike my brethren, I look beyond the facts as they are presented to the deductions that logically follow."
Despite his rush, Kestrel laughed. "If I were to judge, looking beyond what is apparent is perhaps where your faculties need mostly to be sharpened."
"What do you mean?" Astron wrinkled his nose. "As you have said, I was the one who calculated that balloons of lead could fly, that-"
"And the one who did not understand how a group of wizards would react when presented the opportunity for monetary gain." Kestrel held up his hand to stop the protest. "Nor even how to entrap the imps which you say you have known for eras.
"There is more to thought than a logical progression from one truth to another, Astron. Sometimes there is value as well in postulating alternatives, in letting ideas flow free."
Astron's puzzlement deepened. "I do not understand. How can such lack of discipline help me in my quest? Our course is clear; we merely have to follow the path to its end."
Kestrel rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. He looked up to the hilltop. For a long moment they trudged in silence.
"Well, for example, consider the matter of this Gaspar of yours," Kestrel resumed after they had climbed thrice the height of a man.
"He is not my prince," Astron said. "He would find my existence not pleasing. In a tick of time, I would be given to the lowest of his djinns for sport. I serve Elezar, who finds pleasure in riddle and delicate weavings, rather than explosion and chaos."
"Exactly so." Kestrel panted. "From what little you have told me, Gaspar is a demon most unlikely to compose a riddle that would baffle your prince. Even if he could, it would not be his style. Think of it, Astron. Why has Gaspar acted as he has? From where has he obtained the plan to baffle your prince? There are inconsistencies here that cry for explanation." Kestrel shrugged and then put on a fresh burst of speed.
