Riddle of the Seven Realms Page 9

  Astron did not speak. Kestrel looked away, noticing almost absently the foam standing on his mare’s withers. He reached into the wagon for a coarse rag and began to wipe the moisture away, his mind churning with what he should say next.

  Kestrel finished rubbing down one side of his mare and then started on the other. “Do you not understand?” The words burst forth at last with more bitterness than he would have liked. “Understand what it means to bargain with one such as me. I am no hero from the sagas, performing great deeds for kings and masters of the five arts.

  “No, my satisfaction comes from motives much less lofty. I prey upon these so-called heroes; the masters most highly regarded give me the greatest thrill. I tempt them where they are the weakest and appeal to the baseness in their characters that is easily as great as mine.

  “Was Phoebe truly interested in the properties of anvilwood or the fact that the price I seemed to offer in innocence was merely a tenth of what it would fetch from Procolon to the north? Did the wizards care about the effect of gold nuggets common as pebblestones on all those about them or merely wonder which one would end with the greater share?

  “Honor, heroes, the masters—each time that I succeed, each time that they reveal the rotten core beneath their masks of righteousness, it piles proof upon proof. There are no such things as heroes, only men, and not one any better than I.”

  Kestrel stopped and slumped his shoulders. Why had he said so much? His values and how he acted were his business alone, certainly not the concern of a being from somewhere beyond the flame. It was best to end things quickly so he could be on his way. He stared silently at Astron, waiting to see how the devil would react to what he had said.

  “You speak with great passion,” Astron replied after a moment. “A passion that I never before have observed.” He reached into the wagon and grabbed a second cloth. Eyeing Kestrel’s work critically, he dabbed at an apparent wetness on the mare’s hindquarters that had been missed. The horse whinnied and backed away, but Kestrel patted her neck and calmed her back down.

  “I wish that I had the time to pause and understand it more fully,” Astron continued, “but for now we must continue. Tell me, what is your plan for gaining the attention of the archimage?”

  “Didn’t you just hear what I said?” Kestrel flung his rag to the ground. “The merging of our paths was an accident, an alignment of the random factors, as the alchemists would say. Now that the business at Phoebe’s cabin is done, there is nothing more to bind us together. Here, keep the brandels. But look elsewhere for a hero with honor, if one you must have.”

  “I do not know as much as I must of the realm of men,” Astron said. “For that, I must rely on you. But of sprites and wizards my knowledge is perhaps the deeper. For the foreseeable future that will be your greatest need.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wizards are most proud. Their wills are not easily diverted, once they have set upon a goal.” Astron stepped around the mare, thrusting his face into Kestrel’s, his eyes glowing with intensity. “Do you really think that every master who visited the woman’s cabin will forget what has happened and let you continue unimpeded on your way?

  “Or will they call forth from my realm the most powerful devils that they dare and send them searching—searching until you have been found and cast in some dim dungeon as punishment for your deed?”

  Kestrel felt a chill race up his spine. Maybe Astron was right. Simply disappearing and starting over might not be so easy. And years in a dark cell he could well do without.

  “We are cleanly away,” Kestrel said. “Once we reach the juncture, the road will be one well travelled. Demon-aided or not, I will be able to fade successfully from sight.”

  “It will take time.” Astron shook his head. “But eventually you will be found. At first they will dispatch hundreds of small imps or perhaps even thousands if their ire is truly great. Tirelessly, these will dart throughout every corner of your world, examining the features and actions of you humans as closely as they dare. Those who match the descriptions given them will become the subject of a more intense investigation by devils with greater capacity above the stembrain. Even though, to ones of our realm, you all look very much the same, in the end all the possibilities will be eliminated except one.”

  Astron halted. Kestrel saw him flick transparent membranes down over his eyes. The demon’s face seemed to take on a distant and preoccupied look.

  “Now that I think of it,” Astron continued after a moment, “our urgencies are closely intertwined. The same imps and devils called forth by the wizards could most likely have a second mission as well. If Gaspar has already triumphed, then the visitors to your realm will be instructed in addition to search for Elezar’s missing cataloguer so that he can be returned to his fate.

  “Yes, woodcutter, I need your help to navigate through the realm of men just as you need one such as me—one who knows the signs of the presences of my kind.” Astron held up the rag in his hand and tossed it to Kestrel. “My eyes see reds that men cannot, especially when my membranes are in place to filter out the distractions of the blues. That is how I can so easily detect the areas of moisture that you missed on this creature’s back. In like manner I will notice the imp glows far sooner than could the finest wizard in your realm. I can alert you of the danger while we pursue our common goal.”

  “What common goal?”

  “Why to find the archimage, of course,” Astron said. “If he stands to these wizards as a prince does to the djinns of my realm, then only he will be able to turn aside their anger and tell them to desist.”

  Astron paused. The hint of a smile crept onto his face. “So you see, what we seek is the same, as well as what we avoid.”

  Kestrel felt the dampness of the cloth that Astron had thrown him and dropped it to the ground with the other. He patted his mare and frowned.

  “You can detect the presence of these imps before they can get too close?” he asked.

  “Far before what you might dismiss as a fleeting spark of light or a distant buzz of an insect, I can recognize it for what it truly is.”

  “And once detected, you can confine them as well?”

  “They would bite my fingers just as surely as yours,” Astron said. “It is the bottles made by your magicians that are best to keep them in.”

  “Such jars cost a great deal,” Kestrel said. “Far more than a dozen brandels. I have—have dealt with a guild of Procolon to the north and know full well what one might bring.”

  “Then too there is the matter of the gold imp and others of its kind. For those I do not know for sure that I can even detect.”

  “If you have not heard of such, then they most probably do not exist,” Kestrel said.

  “But I heard you speak of them to the wizards.”

  “It was a lie.” Kestrel shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the thought. He looked into the demon’s unblinking eyes. Not being able to snatch even a glimmer of what he really was up to made him very uncomfortable. But what Astron had said made sense. Kestrel had bruised the pride of not a single wizard but almost a dozen. The archimage probably was the only one who could get him out of his fix. Only Alodar would have enough power to turn aside the masters’ wrath once he somehow was convinced it was all a simple mistake. And surely Kestrel could come up with a plausible explanation before he got to the capital of Procolon. Crossing the border would be the only problem.

  Kestrel smiled. Now that he thought of it, being in the presence of the archimage might lead to other opportunities as well. The master of five magics was a man just like the rest. What satisfaction there would be in giving him the chance to outsmart a simple woodchopper. The archimage! Yes, it would be the greatest triumph of all!

  “Very well,” Kestrel said after a moment’s more deliberation. If the demon had any ulterior motives, he would deal with them when they became more apparent. For now he would continue as he had been asked. “Our paths are still joined. I will get
us to the archimage—as we, of course, have originally agreed.”

  “A lie,” Astron said slowly, apparently ignoring what Kestrel said. “You spoke something which was not a reflection of the truth, or at least your interpretation of it.”

  “Of course,” Kestrel said. “I explained to you already what I am about, what all men are about. Concern yourself about it no longer. The only difference is that some of us are more skilled in seeing through the words to what stands behind.”

  “You have this skill of observation?” Astron asked.

  Kestrel sighed. The events of the past hour had already been too draining. He did not want to experience any more intense feelings. He shook his head and turned away.

  Astron waved at the mare and wagon. “I understand,” he said, “that you do not have the means of transporting us as swiftly as a mighty djinn. One is bound by his honor for no more than he is capable of giving.” He reached out and tugged on Kestrel’s sleeve. “There will be time, therefore, that can be most profitably spent with no hint of disgrace—time to tell me how you learned to discern the truth of things that are not.”

  Kestrel studied Astron’s expression. He saw no trace of mocking judgment. The demon’s words of honor and trust unlocked memories that had been suppressed for too many years. Unbidden, they bubbled up to be examined again. They would not go away until they had been acknowledged. And if only a being from another realm heard them, who would really care?

  “I did not have such skills at first,” Kestrel heard himself say softly. “Not at first, when perhaps they counted the most.” He waved his arm up toward the wagon where Phoebe sat entranced. “In many ways the wizard reminds me of her—at least in the way she speaks and smiles.”

  Kestrel looked down at the brandels he clutched in his hand and ran his fingers over the bust of the old queen. “Evelyn was a wandering sorcerer, so she said, unaffiliated with those on Morgana across the great sea. The logo of the eye on her robe was plainly stitched and unadorned. A sorcerer of great beauty she was as well, as fair as Vendora, the ruler of Procolon, in her prime.

  “Her love for me knew no bounds, she told me. Anything that I asked that was in her power would be mine. And who was I to believe otherwise, a lad barely out of his teens.

  “The request was simple enough—to go with her among the townspeople I knew, add credence to her tale, and hold the pledges for safekeeping that each of them subscribed. When the total was sufficient she would add a matching amount of her own and then, while I waited outside the gates, negotiate with the Cycloid Guild for the sale of some properties that would aid in the enchantments. With them she would form great illusions of healing and relieve the deep-set pains that even sweet-balm could not touch. Our village would become famous for the soothing comforts the charms provided. Everyone would share in the fees that such wonders would bring. And I would learn the words of the spells and be second only to her in the eyes of the grateful.

  “Three days I paced in front of the forbidding doors of the guild before some of the more suspicious townspeople came and asked to count again the contents of the sacks I so carefully guarded. When they were opened and iron disks instead of soft gold spilled out, I was as much shocked as they. Even when told how the switch must have taken place in a moment of intimacy, I would not believe. At any second, I knew, the gates would open and Evelyn would emerge with a satisfactory explanation.

  “But she did not come; she left by another exit from the guild almost as soon as she had entered. No, she reappeared not then nor during any of the four years I wasted away in a dungeon in punishment for my part in the crime.

  “So when I finally was set free, I started learning to look intently at the faces, to read behind the words and to serve to magicians and other masters some of the same formulas that they would brew for me.”

  Kestrel paused and shrugged. “It is not so difficult if you set your mind to it. Every man betrays his innermost thoughts with slight gestures and the tugs of muscles in his face, master as well as slave. You merely have to put yourself in his place and feel as your own what must be his driving desires. Each time you observe, the readings become clearer, the hidden motives behind them easier to read.

  “And with that understanding comes the power to manipulate, to guide and channel according to your own desire. One can twist a master of the arts like a magic ring about his finger and show to the world, like Evelyn, how undeserving he is.

  “So in the end I have become a sorcerer as much as any other. No, I know nothing of the incantations that are so hard to say but if spoken thrice bind the spells. I do not bend others to my will by force of magical art. The illusions that I spin are fabrics of the other’s own thoughts, rather than my own. I merely encourage the impulses that are already there and enable them to flower for a brief moment for my own gain before they are subsequently smothered by shame.”

  The sadness in Kestrel’s face tugged like a great weight. “Now I do have the skill of observation,” he said. “I can see through men to their true worth. And unfortunately, I am among the best.”

  Kestrel stopped his rambling. He looked at Astron with questioning eyes. “Now do you understand any better?” he asked.

  “No,” Astron said. “It is all very interesting, but in fact, I guess I do not. Why would this Evelyn say she would return and then change her mind without letting you know?”

  Kestrel sighed again. At least for the moment, the bitterness was expunged. And it was far better for a demon to hear his confession than for someone who could manipulate the information against him. For a long moment there was silence; then Kestrel waved back to the wagon. “Climb inside and let us be going,” he said. “I have some clothing that you should don so that you will not attract notice as we travel northward.”

  Astron nodded. “But you have not yet told me of the wizard. Why did you return for her at such great risk?”

  “I do not know.” Kestrel shrugged. “But it does not matter. Into the wagon, I say. Let us be gone.”

  “You had no real need,” Astron persisted as he climbed aboard. “As I understand it, it could only be the act of a hero.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Talk of the Thaumaturges

  THE race across the Southern Kingdoms was swift. Kestrel pushed the mare as much as he dared, barely stopping for food and sleep. Astron had no requirement for nourishment and Phoebe in her entranced state needed little. In three days’ time they crossed Samirand and Laudia and entered Ethidor, which bordered Procolon on the south. During their trek, Astron saw no sign of the searching imps, but the compelling sense of urgency did not abate. At any moment, the wizards could discover where they were and subject them to their wrath. The tale of what awaited Astron back in his own realm, if he did not succeed in time, Kestrel could scarcely believe, but the demon remained steadfast in urging the wagon onward.

  Toward dusk of the third day, they arrived in the port of Menthos as the onshore breeze blew thick plumes of dark smoke from foundries across the isthmus. Kestrel pulled his horse to a stop at the head of the main street of the town. He glanced back at Phoebe, who appeared to be sleeping on a rough bed under the wagon’s canopy. The branches and snags meant to be foisted off as anvilwood had long since been discarded. Astron sat at Kestrel’s side, wearing a long cape and hooded like a master, although no logo was displayed. A worn tunic, leggings, boots and gloves covered most of his faintly scaled skin.

  On the left side of the main street, behind a sidewalk of rough planking, stood a long row of apothecaries, wooden-faced structures mainly of one storey. Some were brightly painted and prosperous-looking, others were dull with isinglass windows scratched and hazy. “Galena and cinnabar,” some of the placards over doorways proclaimed; “Fresh vacuum of all quantities, created daily,” said others.

  On the right, steep stairways led down a short cliff to docks and quays. Riding gently at anchor were broad-beamed galleons, all lying high in the water, though some had their decks filled with close
ly packed bottles, their sails unfurled, ready to weigh anchor.

  At the other end of the street, behind high fences, large smokestacks towered into the sky, belching dense black clouds. Even from the distance, one could hear the roar of huge bellows feeding air into furnaces and smell the hint of metallic fumes.

  The traffic on the street was the usual mixture of scurrying messengers, maids hawking fruits and material from simple carts, merchants in animated conversation, and an occasional litter bearing someone of importance. Mixed with the rest were men-at-arms in groups of twos and threes, wandering aimlessly, apparently looking for something to spark their jaded interests.

  “An alchemist’s town, no doubt about it,” Kestrel said as he pointed to the rising smoke. He had decided it best to explain things to Astron as soon as something new was seen by the demon. It would reduce the chance of questions at inappropriate times, like those that had been asked at Phoebe’s cabin.

  Kestrel shook his head slightly as he spoke. He had become quite used to the physical presence of the demon. The oddity of his bizarre origin had long since faded away. A wrinkled nose, Kestrel now understood, indicated puzzlement, the flicking of the eye membranes a retreat into the deep logical thought. But beyond these simple signs, he still could not fathom any motives behind those that the devil professed. Hopefully, they would become more apparent as they drew closer to the archimage.

  Despite his statements about experience as a cataloguer of the realm of men, Astron was totally ignorant about some of the simplest things. Abstract concepts beyond what one could see and touch took a good deal of explaining. But the demon was an eager and attentive pupil, asking questions until he was sure that he fully understood.