Magics - Riddle Of The Seven Realms Part 37

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"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 s.p.a.ce. 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

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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 He 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 pa.s.sed 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.

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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. "a.s.sume 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

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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 crisp-ness 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 tension 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

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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, a.s.suming a variety of positions, some leaning against the trees, while others curled up into tight little b.a.l.l.s 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 pa.s.sing 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 antic.i.p.ation, 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 a.s.sembling the warriors in flying formation with just precisely sufficient time to start moving when the tug of the second protocol hit the oasis.

Kestrel slapped the pommel of the heavy sword. It would not do if everyone staggered awake in disarray while he was in mid-dalliance with Phoebe, despite her need for cheering. He scowled at the direction his thoughts were taking him. Such concerns were madness. What difference did it make what Abel and the others judged of his actions? They were no more than creatures of imagination. He had no real allegiance to them. They were merely

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the means to the end of achieving deli verance.

He ran his fingers over the smooth grooves which spi-raled up the hilt of the sword. It was heavy, true, but even in the short time he had worn it, despite the undercurrent of the entrapment, there was a degree of excitement as well-something he had not felt since before he first met Evelyn. All the warriors now nodded to him with that subtle hint of respect that only Abel had received before. He was now more than just another body that broke the symmetry of the node; he was the commander in whom they trusted the course of the next move.

Kestrel looked out over the desert and sighed. His emotions began to churn in a sudden tumble. Creatures of imagination or not, they deserved better than he. There was no deceit in Abel's eyes or in any of the others' that followed him-only trust in the one who wore the sword.

Kestrel stepped back to the tree and folded his arms across his chest as he had seen Abel do at least a dozen times before. Slowly he began counting in his head, ticking off the featureless time as best he was able. After twenty thousand counts, he decided, then I will sound the alert.

Kestrel bobbed and weaved in the whistling wind. The time to the next move had pa.s.sed quickly enough, and he had got the troop off in fairly decent order. Strong eddies created by the rucksack on his back rocked him about. Unlike the rotators, he was unable to keep a completely smooth trajectory over the expanse of sand. But the grace of his motion was not Kestrel's primary concern. Far sooner than he wished, the distance to the next oasis, the one that Astron said put them a step closer to the origin, was melting away.

As he squinted into the haze, he saw the tops of the ring of trees appear over the horizon and then the lower trunks. He held his breath, hoping that his wish for an unoccupied oasis would be realized, but soon he saw it was not to be. Shadowy forms of many men loomed into detail. If they were rotators, surely Abel and the others would have known. He saw the glint of arms and, at the edge of the water, a towering construction of dull metal

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that emitted loud clicks radiating out across the sands.

"Is there any particular formation that you use when approaching a hostile oasis?" Kestrel called out to Abel on his left. He patted the thick copper blade at his side, but received little rea.s.surance from it. It looked as if they would be slightly outnumbered and had little hope for surprise.

"It depends on how they are deployed about the sub-nodes," Abel called back. "If they are evenly distributed, the force of symmetry will deposit us in a similar fas.h.i.+on. If they have most of their men at one of the trees, then the fewest of ours will have to face them. The bulk of our own will land at a subnode across the oasis from them."