Magics - Riddle Of The Seven Realms Part 58

Astron started to wrinkle his nose, but he realized he did not have the time. Reaching the anvilwood barrier, he began hewing with the sword as if it were an axe, sending splinters flying. He managed to dislodge two large logs. Abandoning his blade, he lifted them in the circle of his arms. Staggering with the load, he weaved his way back to the fire which Phoebe had fanned into a respectable blaze, despite the growing wetness of the air.

The tiers of the casino had become completely hidden in the dense black fog, and only hints of the ma.s.sive support pillars were outlined where the high ceiling should be. The illuminating spheres of fungi had been reduced to dull glows. Only the fire pushed back the darkness of the encroaching gloom. It looked as if they were on an island in a fogbound sea.

Astron tossed the logs onto the fire and prepared to step into it himself, but then hesitated. "There is insufficient time." He shook his head. "You all will be gone before I can return."

"Then transport us to another realm," Phoebe said. "Like a mighty djinn, you must somehow carry us through."

"There certainly is no time for that, even if I were able," Astron said. "Piercing through one barrier to the realm of daemon is hard enough, let alone two."

"You must think of something, Astron." Nimbia touched his arm. "Look! At the very edge of the mists, I see Byron wrenching free his blade."

Astron looked at the inviting lick of the flame. The color and smell beckoned him with an almost irresistible allure. He could easily step into the warm, enfolding embrace and vanish from the peril. He watched the shrinking horizon of visibility and felt his stembrain stir in panic.

He reached out and felt the softness of Nimbia's hand still on his arm. Memories of the pa.s.sion he had felt in Kestrel's body returned with a surprising sharpness. He

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looked into her eyes and saw the confidence in his abilities that she seemed to radiate back to him.

"I will try as would my clutch brethren," he said softly as he walked into the flame. "The arc will be small, so you will have to squeeze as much as you can."

"Where will you take us?" Nimbia asked.

"If I am successful, just into the realm of daemon," Astron said. "To the darkness of my own den. Perhaps none will be waiting for us there."

He paused and studied the expression on her face. "It will be quite strange, but perhaps, after what you all have experienced, not so bizarre that you cannot act. We must get the pollen to Palodad. Remember, without that, eventually we will still fail."

Astron turned away his face and pulled his thoughts within himself, trying to shut out totally the collapse rus.h.i.+ng inward. Groping mentally, he felt the fabric of resistance between the two realms and probed it for the flaw, the subtle discontinuity created by the burning of the anvilwood that would create the opening back to his home.

For how long he searched Astron could not tell, but finally he found it, a slight thinning in the essence of resistance that could be pierced by the strength of will. Astron concentrated on the familiar comforts of his own den-the ruggedness of the rocklike walls and the shelves that protruded from them, displaying the artifacts he had collected from the other realms. He envisioned with satisfaction the three volumes standing in a row between the sh.e.l.l and rock crystal that he used as bookends in the manner of men.

Astron strained against the resistance, pus.h.i.+ng it inward, thinning it further, making it more transparent so that he could see and smell what he desired. There was a small pop and then a sudden ripping. He felt himself being drawn away, shrinking into the flame and tumbling into the comforts of his own lair.

For a moment, Astron let the feeling build within him, seeking to slip away and vanish from the dangers all about. His toes slid through the flame and dangled into the ceiling of his lair. Then his ankles followed.

Astron stopped his slide with a start. This time it had

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to be different. He could not luxuriate in the narcotic sweetness of coming home. He stilled himself and stopped his transition. Instead, he concentrated on building an arc in the flame such as he had seen the mighty djinns form in the realm of the fey.

The ripping of the barrier halted, barely big enough for him alone to slip through and little else. He arched his back and placed his hands down into the fire, knotting his muscles and straining against the suddenly increased resistance. He felt the fire of the anvil wood climb up on his legs and arms and eventually meet in the small of his back. Sharp tendrils of pain accompanied their journey, somehow racing along the fibers of his being, reaching even into his fingers and toes and screaming with hurt.

Astron's jaws tightened and his vision blurred. "Quickly," he croaked. "I do not know how long I can maintain an opening this large.

"But I can hardly see anything." Kestrel peered into the arch beneath Astron's body. "It is a wall of flames and in its very center a dark disk hardly big enough for a child."

"It will have to do," Astron persisted. "First Nimbia and Phoebe, and then you can follow."

Phoebe gathered her cape about her and ducked her head between outstretched arms like a diver preparing to leap from a high cliff. She aimed her fingertips at the dark disk and slowly began to work herself through the opening.

Astron gasped as her head slipped through and he felt the widening bulge of her body. The pain intensified into an agonizing torrent. Only dimly was he aware of her pa.s.sage and that of Nimbia who followed. He tried to focus on how close the swirling fogs had closed on them; but in the blur of his vision, he could not tell.

Kestrel came last, and Astron could no longer remain silent. He howled as the searing pain seemed to rip him asunder. Flashes of reds and yellow washed over him. Wave after pulsing wave dug deeply into his torso, seeking out every atom of his existence and wrenching it about.

"I cannot get through," Astron heard Kestrel call out. "It is the rucksack. The opening is too small to let it pa.s.s."

"Then take it off and try the grains one by one," Astron

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heard himself answer. He ground his teeth and gasped to make his tongue do as it was commanded. He felt his last reserves of strength begin to wane. The nearest corner of his stembrain was dangerously close to breaking free.

"Kestrel," he choked hoa.r.s.ely. "If, by some chance, I am unable to follow, you must act with my kind just as you have done with the imps in your own realm. Convince whatever demon pa.s.ses by my lair to transport you to Palodad." He sucked in his breath in a spasm. "But do not let Phoebe wrestle with the old prince. Just get the pollen to him so that, in the end, Nimbia can be safe."

"One grain will just have to be enou-" Kestrel's answer was drowned by an increased roaring in Astron's ears. Dimly, he was aware of the p.r.i.c.kly barbs of a pollen grain being pa.s.sed through the barrier to waiting hands on the other side and then Kestrel's all too ma.s.sive bulk straining to follow.

Astron felt his muscles begin to tremble and his consciousness falter. He could resist no more. The barrier closed with a sudden pop and he collapsed onto the flame, the last remnants of his tunic and leggings vanis.h.i.+ng in smoke.

"Where have you hidden her?" He looked up to see Byron standing above him with the sword aimed at his eyes. "Quickly, tell me. There appears to be so little time."

Astron's thoughts bounced about his head. He could not control their direction. He tried to push his chest from the smouldering ashes, but his arms trembled and he collapsed back to the earth. Pools of wetness lapped at the flame. Directly in front, he saw three or four of the giant pollen grains begin to shake and bob as rivulets of water wound their way through the dense thicket of radiating spines. Beyond Byron's boots, all he could see were the dim glows of Camonel's fire spheres and, presumably, the shadow of Milligan still slumped in his confinement.

"Talk, I say," Byron persisted. 'Tell me in which direction she has run."

Astron looked up at Byron through glazed eyes, but did not speak. The chaos continued to build in his mind. Lead balloons, pollen grains, ultimate precepts, bubbles

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of reality, symmetries, talismans, almanacs, lightning djinns, the archimage, Nimbia-they all boiled and churned, linking together in strange patterns that the ordinary discipline of his mind would not allow.

Byron scowled and pushed the tip of the sword to Astron's nose, but the demon did not move. The warrior pressed against the guard, bringing forth a drop of ichor and then abruptly pulled the blade away. "An aleator until the end I see," he growled. He looked at the sputtering remains of the anvilwood fire and quickly spun on his feet. "Let us see how loose your tongue becomes when faced with what you believe to be your bane."

Astron saw Byron move out into the dimness and thrust savagely with the sword. He returned in an instant with one of the fire spheres affixed to the tip of his blade. Despite the drenching wetness that seemed to drip from the heavy air, it still managed to sputter and glow. Byron studied the dance of flame for a moment and then thrust it at the nearest of pollen grains at his feet, plunging the two globes together into the soggy ground.

As Camonel's sphere submerged into the water, the fire sputtered out. But just as it did, the pollen grain touching it burst into a white-hot blaze of its own, suddenly glowing with a piercing intensity far more fierce even than what had ignited it.

Astron watched the burning harebell pollen float in the pool of water and burn at the same time, sending up a bubbling cloud of steam to add to the inky fog. He looked at another of the grains directly in front of his face and almost abstractly admired the beauty of the branching net of spines that bristled almost into nothingness.

"Of course." His mouth suddenly seemed to move of its own volition. "It is the same principle as the flour in the realm of reticulates. The tips of the barbs are so sharp and fine that they are perfect for the beginning of a flame. The pollen burned in the realm of the fey; even here in water, it can sustain a blaze."

Astron tried to shake his head free of the ricocheting thoughts, but the undisciplined stembrain would not be reconfined. He saw Byron free his sword from the fire

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sphere and stab instead at the burning pollen grain. With cruel menace in his face, the warrior brought it forward toward Astron's unprotected eyes.

"And the more difficult the environment, apparently the more intense the fire," Astron babbled on. "The grain smoked and smouldered in the realm of the fey. Here, even water cannot stop the rage of its blaze. In a realm in which it is truly diff-"