Riddle of the Seven Realms m-3

by Lyndon Hardy

  "They disturb the protocols." Abel again puckered his lips. "Their very presence somehow has changed the third and fourth laws so that they no longer operate as they should. And in our realm, strange things happen with them that even the chronoids never intended. Who knows when they will affect the first, second, and fifth laws?"

  Abel looked out over the sands and shuddered. "Besides the forced transport of bodies to other nodes, I have heard of things happening inside as well." He paused and seemed to chew on his tongue. "I cannot totally explain, but the transformations of the clocks in the realm of reticulates can change more than just the physical. No, despite any possible advantage, we prefer to bury what we find in the sands."

  One of the warriors from another of the subnodes called to Abel. The commander abruptly turned away without another word and resumed his duties. The abruptness of the rotator did not bother Kestrel. He had come to realize that there was little need for courtesy in a realm such as this. But the information he had learned had been most interesting. Perhaps there was something in what Abel had said that would help them in their plight. Kestrel looked at Astron, trying to draw out the significance of what he had heard, but the demon was again fully occupied by the parchment in his lap.

  Kestrel saw a flash of color at another of the subnodes and immediately his attention was drawn away. Something was happening that he had not seen before. A giant sling had been strung between two of the trees. While he watched, a roll of brilliant red cloth was launched in a high arc into the sky. Like a streaking comet, the material unfolded into an eye-catching arch that could be seen far over the horizon. After it had plummeted back to the ground, several of the warriors raced out onto the desert to retrieve the cloth and roll it back up into a coil.

  Kestrel saw four of the warriors at one of the sub-nodes scanning the horizon, three looking out along paths that ran to adjacent nodes, and two others at angles in between. Almost as soon as the signal bolt was retrieved, Kestrel noticed a flash of motion down the line of sight that was farthest to the left. Another banner of red soared up into the sky in answer to the signal.

  Then in a clockwise direction from the first, just barely above the horizon and far more distant, four more banners answered as well. All eyes turned to the rightmost path, the last of the six, but the sky remained calm; there was no arch of color sailing into the sky.

  A sudden babble of excitement erupted from the rotators. Even though they had not yet eaten, shield straps were tightened and a dozen or more began practicing stylized jumps and feints with their swords.

  "What is happening?" Kestrel asked Astron.

  The demon stopped tracing his finger across a copy of the node network and listened to the rush of voices that Kestrel could not quite follow.

  "The prospect for battle is high." Astron looked up from the map. "Imagine that this node is one vertex of a hexagon, just like one of the fruit trees around the oasis. The rotators also occupy the one on the left and then, on the far side of the center, three more as well." The demon pointed down the path to the right. "A contingent of reflectives just vacated this node before we arrived; they must be one adjacent move away, most probably at the last node of the six."

  "So the warriors here arm for a fight against an enemy they have not even seen," Kestrel said. "The node on the right may be occupied by twice as many-or they might run before the battle can be engaged."

  "That is not the way it is done in the realm of reticulates," Astron said. "After some study, I think I understand better how the moves are made." The demon stabbed at the map. "The rotators occupy five of the six vertices of a hexagon; simultaneously they will all move to the node at the very center of them all. The forces of symmetry will be enormous; the reflectives at the sixth node will be drawn in as well. They will be unable to resist. And with the warriors from five nodes against those of one, the outcome of the battle should be quite favorable."

  Kestrel studied the parchment on Astron's lap with the cryptic squiggles, trying to make sense of what the demon was saying.

  "Besides," Astron continued, "it is a good move for us as well. It is in the right direction."

  "What do you mean?" Kestrel brought his attention back to the demon.

  "It places us one vertex closer to the origin," the demon said. "Look, I have been studying these maps and identified this one point as the center of all the others. All the symmetries pivot about it. Just like the center of the hexagon to which we will be moving, there is one vertex that is the origin of the entire realm."

  Kestrel shook his head. He still did not understand.

  "The origin is least bound by the forces of symmetries," Astron continued. "There is no other node which must have the same activities in order for things to balance. There the unusual is more likely to occur. It is the one node where we have some hope-some hope of performing wizardry and building a fire."

  Kestrel felt his spirits lift. "Yes," he exclaimed, "you just might be right. How else could the reflectives communicate with the chronoids if not through the flame. And Abel said that since they have captured the origin, the contacts have become more intense." He looked at Astron's map with far keener interest.

  "After the battle, we will press on to this origin?" Kestrel asked.

  "Not necessarily. If the reflectives do not see such moves as part of their overall plan, they will travel elsewhere, and it will be difficult for us to resist being carried along."

  "Then they will need a little convincing." Kestrel smiled and rubbed his hands together. His thoughts began to jump as he looked back to Abel with calculating eyes.

  "What about a trap?" he asked. "Now that I think of it, this move to the center of the hexagon seems very obvious. Suppose it is part of some greater symmetry that is being planned by the reflectives."

  "I had not thought of that," Astron exclaimed. The demon looked at Kestrel and wrinkled his nose. "Another example of the kind of thinking you were talking about as we returned from the glen of the harebell, I suppose. But yes, if I can understand the strategy of the move with such little exposure, how subtle indeed can it be? Why would the reflectives move to the node that completes the hexagon, rather than choose another oasis that does not impress symmetry so strongly upon them?"

  Kestrel did not bother to hear the rest of what Astron said. He sprang to his feet and walked to the subnode that was occupied by the commander. Fortunately the rotators had so carefully distributed everyone about the oasis that the resistance of maintaining symmetry could almost totally be ignored.

  "Commander," he said, "how cunning have the reflectives proven to be in the past?"

  Abel looked up from the map he was studying and pursed his lips. "The reflectives do not act with cunning. If they did, I would grant them a small token of respect. Instead, they employ any methods to enforce advantage -poisoning oases just as they leave or imitating our signal flares with messages of deception."

  "And you?" Kestrel smiled. "The rotators do not engage in such tactics when the alternative would be a defeat?"

  "Certainly not." Abel glowered. "It is the fundamental difference between the two of us. We wish to rid this realm of the reflectives, it is true; but for the rotators, the end does not justify all means."

  Kestrel looked to the horizon and rubbed his chin. "Suppose I can provide you a method that will result in substantial advantage," he said, "something that might tip the struggle permanently in your favor."

  "I do not know the customs of your realm," Abel said. "What you judge to be of no consequence might be totally out of concert with what we rotators believe."

  "It is more a a matter of cunning than the poisoning of wells," Kestrel said.

  "Speak and I shall judge," Abel said. "If what you say has merit, then I will pledge my token to your command and all of those who can be communicated with by sky-ribbon as well."

  Kestrel looked into the cold gray eyes and hesitated. Among men, he had seen such an expression only in the most steadfast of wizards. "I do not
seek your command," he said quickly. "I propose only to offer advice. If it is accepted, then the results will be compensation enough for those who travel with me."

  "I command or I do not," Abel said. "If your plan is accepted, then you carry the burden of responsibility of our lives. That has been the way of the rotators since the beginning of time."

  Kestrel looked around the oasis uncomfortably. Enough of the stone-gray warriors at other subnodes had overheard the conversation that they were looking at him intently. His goal was to get Phoebe away from another realm as well. He glanced out over the sands and felt a return of the feeling that had pulled at him until just moments before. There was no other choice. He would have to see through Astron's idea and work out the consequences later.

  "I think that rather than moving to the center of the hexagon that we now occupy," Kestrel said at last, "we should strike for the origin of the realm by another route. The present maneuver is too obvious; it is most likely a trap. What do you say to surrendering responsibility if such were my first command?"

  "Your scheme is one of correct moves and nothing more?" Abel asked. "No special weapons or tricks outside the custom?"

  "No, none of that," Kestrel said. "But that is not the point."

  "That is the point entirely," Abel said. "A scheme with honor is all that I ask. Sketch for me on the map the moves you propose. If they show greater merit than the plan for the moment, then we are yours to lead."

  Kestrel stared back at the cold unblinking eyes and frowned. He looked for some hint of reservation in Abel's expression, some indication that the gray warrior was merely agreeing until he revealed more of what he had in mind. But the face was void of veiled tension. The commander appeared quite willing to hand everything over to Kestrel, provided that it aided in the cause of the rotators. The gray warrior took his words totally at face value and trusted him in what he said.

  Kestrel's sense of discomfort grew. This was totally unlike his dealings in the realm of men. There, he always sought to find the hidden failings, the weakness that he exploited to consummate the deal. And when he was done, his conscience was not bothered; an honest man would not have been tempted by what he had to offer in the first place; in the end, just desserts were served. But this time he had no real reason, other than his own, to move in the direction of the origin. It was an out-and-out swindle, with lives at stake, besides.

  "No, forget it," Kestrel said. "Your plan is perhaps best after all. Proceed to seize the center node of the hexagon. The demon says that it moves us closer to the origin as well."

  "Your words cannot be so easily put aside," Abel said. "The origin has been a matter of some concern since it was seized by the reflectives some three hundred moves ago." The warrior touched the sword pommel at his side. "If you indeed have a scheme of merit, you must tell us your plan so that we can judge."

  Kestrel hesitated, but Abel did not waver. With a slow deliberateness, the warrior began to withdraw his sword. Kestrel glanced at Astron waiting expectantly and over at Phoebe staring vacantly into space. He quickly pointed at the map.

  "It is merely a conjecture," he said, trying to buy time with his words. "See, here is the node at the center of the hexagon. And here are the five vertices occupied by your own men. The sixth here you suspect to be possessed by the reflectives, and by converging simultaneously you hope to draw them in with you."

  "That is apparent to all," Abel growled. "What is your plan that has superior merit?" Several other warriors stopped whatever they were doing and drew closer to hear Kestrel's words.

  "Apparent to all-as you state, that is exactly what I wish to emphasize," Kestrel said. His eyes raced over the map for an idea. "But what about-what about the ring of vertices that surround even these six, the ones that lie even farther from the center of the hexagon? Yes, that is it. When you perform your maneuver, all six of the corners of the hexagon will be vacated; if the reflectives possess all of the nodes further out, they can move in to this one and the other five totally unchallenged. You will be surrounded and outnumbered at least two to one. The reflectives might sacrifice one unit the size of yours, but the rotators will eventually lose five in return."

  A murmur of surprise erupted from the warriors who were listening. Quickly they passed on what had been said to the others. Kestrel was not quite sure where his thoughts were taking him, but at least Abel's sword arm had relaxed.

  "A sacrifice of one to gain five." Abel looked at the map and back to Kestrel with respect. "I would not have thought of it, nor would any other of our side. It would be just like the reflectives, though; shedding some of their own blood, so long as it produced a greater gain." He paused and puckered his lips. "Your logic has great force. What, then, is the alternative?"

  "It is only conjecture," Kestrel repeated, "a thought experiment about what might be the reflectives' intent. I have no proof that it is so."

  "But as you said, the convergence to the center of the hexagon is so obvious. It is rare that the reflectives would let themselves be maneuvered into such a state. After all, they have been struggling for as long as we. Tell us the rest and then you can lead."

  Kestrel frowned. Moving away from the center of the hexagon rather than toward it probably would be no worse than what Abel had originally planned. Perhaps the next node in fact would be totally unoccupied and no harm would be done. And they, in fact, would be closer to the origin. He pointed out over the horizon.

  "There," he said. "We should move to that node and the other five units should move outward as well. If we encounter any of the reflectives, then the ratio will be no worse than one to one."

  Abel squinted out over the desert and then nodded. He turned back to Kestrel and unclasped his sword belt. "The plan has merit," he said. "Assume the command. We will do as you say."

  Kestrel looked one final time into Abel's unwavering eyes. He waited for some tiny twinge or movement, but saw none. "Signal the others," he said in a resigned voice. It was not exactly what he had had in mind. "Inform them of the plan so that there is no loss of life through misunderstanding. I will do as you say." Reluctantly he took the offered belt and put it around his waist. If felt far heavier than it should.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Spatial Transformations

  KESTREL watched impatiently as the last of the fruit was squeezed into the bowl. It was too tart to be drunk undiluted, as he knew from his first experimentation, but the elaborate method of mixing by the rotators seemed to serve no real purpose. He looked out over the unchanging desert and shrugged. They could do nothing, of course, until the time of the next move. Perhaps the purpose of the empty rituals was no more than to keep everyone occupied.

  Kestrel saw Abel carefully decant oasis water into the bowl on top of the thick juice. The liquid ran down the side without mixing and formed a crystal-clear layer on top of the opaque orange sludge on which it rode. Besides the former commander, two other warriors flailed at the wrung-out pap on large flat stones, pressing it into a thin layer of sticky paste. Before the next move, the gentle breezes would have dried the pulp into a fine orange powder that was carefully packed away against the contingency of arriving at a node with nothing fresh to eat.

  When the last of the water had been added, Abel opened a spout near the bottom of the bowl and let the juice slowly flow out to fill a large spoon. Then, with a practiced deftness, the rotator stopped the flow, raised the spoon back over the top edge of the bowl, plunged it into the water layer, and stirred it vigorously about. The juice sprayed into a shower of the fine droplets that quickly added a hint of orange to the transparent crispness of the water, but somehow did not disturb the darker opaqueness that rested beneath.

  Using the same spoon with a hinged cover over the top, Abel next extracted some of the water and plunged it into the denser juice. He manipulated a lever that released the spoon's contents and again swirled it about, slightly lightening the deep color in the process.

  Kestrel yawned, partially from the tensio
n of waiting, but also because he had seen the ritual more than a dozen times. Abel returned the spoon to the spout near the bottom of the bowl, collected some of the lower liquid, and mixed it with the top. Again he extracted some of the result and swirled it with the bottom. With each transfer the water became more and more cloudy, the juice more and more fluid and transparent, and the horizontal line marking the boundary between the two harder and harder to detect.

  Finally, after perhaps a score of transfers, the boundary line began to buckle and writhe. Fingers of liquid started to intertwine and merge. In an indefinable instant, the two liquids coalesced into one with no distinction between them. Abel grunted in satisfaction, and the warriors began lining up with their cups and gourds.

  Soon everyone had their fill of juice and wind-dried bread. In a rigorous sequence, the warriors began nodding off to sleep, assuming a variety of positions, some leaning against the trees, while others curled up into tight little balls near the roots.

  Kestrel watched the eyes of the last one close and then smiled across the pond at Phoebe. Now that he was commander, he should at least be able to move about as he decided, especially since Abel now dozed with the rest. He had to try again to break Phoebe out of the depression that seemed to grow with each passing moment. And, he admitted as well, the softness of her touch was something that he was beginning to miss more and more.

  Kestrel glanced at Astron and saw the demon stirring the contents of one of the flour tins with his little finger. The demon wrinkled his nose as a tiny cyclone of tiny orange particles swirled up into the air. Two subnodes around the oasis from Kestrel, Nimbia sat and stretched. Finally she looked as if she were recovering from her effort of creation. It appeared that neither of them would need his attention.

  With a grin of anticipation, Kestrel started to walk toward Phoebe's subnode, but then halted. Abel always seemed to sense when the next move was about to begin, he thought suddenly. The commander would shout the call to order and begin assembling the warriors in flying formation with just precisely sufficient time to start moving when the tug of the second protocol hit the oasis.