Magics - Riddle Of The Seven Realms Part 25

Astron vaguely became aware of many hands tugging on his body and of being lifted into the air. He felt the rough fiber of the stringy bark against his skin. He flailed past the first horizontal level of branches and then several tiers more. Finally he felt an embrace that held him firm. Nimbia's arms coiled around him. He smelled the exotic aroma of her closeness and heard the rustle of her tunic against his own.

"Do not fight me, demon," he heard her whisper. "Blend your will with mine. Cling to me and do not let go. When they pa.s.s below and do not find us, their command will be for you to come forth, and you must not."

Astron saw the dance of glowroots in the distance and a line of sentrymen fanning out along the crude path on which they had fled. He heard Phoebe suck in her breath

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and the three about him stiffen into nervous silence.

As Nimbia had predicted, the voices inside his head changed their direction. No longer was he implored to stop and freeze. Instead, he felt a growing urge for action, to bolt forth and run into the open, to flee the dismal dark cover to the gentle light of the glen.

Astron's limbs began to tremble. With all the concentration left to his command, he clutched Nimbia harder, willing his arms to stiffen. He must hold on.

Nimbia seemed to sense his struggle. Her grip tightened and her thoughts blended with his. He felt the strength of her inner being, like a vault of steel. He poured his own essence into it, molding to the contours of the container, pressing against her, like an annealing of the alchemists that could not be torn away.

Through barely open eyes, he saw the followers of Prydwin draw closer, peering cautiously into the inky darkness and listening for some sound of their flight. Some pa.s.sed in the distance to either side, but three came close to the enormous bush in which they hid.

Come forward, the voices commanded. Come forward; it is the will of the fey. Astron slammed shut his eyes and crushed Nimbia to him. He heard the gasp of her breath from the force of his embrace. He felt her nails dig into his back, even through the thickness of his tunic. The trembling of his limbs shook his entire body in spasms. He ached from the effort to remain silent and still.

Mentally, he tried to keep the image of Nimbia's vault in focus, pushing against the surface of her being everywhere he could. He felt her accepting his struggle, welcoming the intertwining of what he was with her. He saw beyond the smooth strength that she projected into recesses of her existence that went beyond the immediate struggle-hints of great pride in her creations, the agony of defeat in compet.i.tion with Prydwin, the frustration of the petty jealousies of her courtiers, and a deep-lying melancholy that perhaps even she did not understand.

Like the flickers of a dying flame, the images fluttered briefly in Astron's mind, then faded away. If he were

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struggling to dominate her across the barrier of the flame, he would have pursued them further, exposed them to view, a.n.a.lytically picked the one most painful, and then exploited it until her will was his own to do with as he chose.

But Nimbia was sharing his struggle. To meld the fullness of her strength to his she had to expose the foundations from which it sprang. She bared the innermost essence of her being in trust. He could do no more than accept the gift that was given.

The urge to howl in pain rose in Astron's chest. He clamped his jaws shut, feeling that his teeth would explode into fragmented shards from the pressure to remain silent. Every muscle in his body ached from the conflicting commands to remain immobile on one hand and to dance into fevered action on the other.

He felt the strong walls of Nimbia's mental vault buckle on the bottom and the band about the mouth wrench apart in a silent scream of ripping metal. Although he strained to resist, the top stretched wide and, as if pushed by giant thumbs, the bottom bulged upward toward the opening. Almost helplessly, he felt the container wrenched inside out, exposing his own being to the relentless will of the others.

But then, just when he could stand remaining silent no longer, the pressure lessened. Almost in disbelief, Astron darted a glance out of one eye to the ground below. Whistled commands sang through the leaves. The sen-trymen were moving on through the brush.

As the searchers departed, so did the pressure in Astron's head. The trembling of his limbs slowed to random twitches and then stopped altogether. His own consciousness expanded to fill all of his being. Almost with a sense of reluctance, he felt Nimbia's presence within him withdraw as well.

No one moved, however. All four remained frozen, lest the smallest sound draw the attention of Prydwin's sentrymen back to where they hid. In silence, Astron heard the whistles and calls grow fainter until only the buzz and click of the insects remained.

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Finally, after an immeasurable time, Nimbia shifted slightly and uncoiled her arms from around Astron's back. With muscles stiff from fatigue, he released her as well. Nimbia pulled the glowroot from her pouch and brought it up to eye level. Astron saw her look him in the eye and then quickly dart her glance aside. A hint of redness blossomed in her cheeks.

"Forgive me," she said softly. "When we struggled to resist the will of the others, I could not help but learn of things that you probably do not want to share."

"And I of you," Astron responded. "I sensed I should not but-"

"If those are thank-yous you are exchanging, they can come later," Kestrel cut in. "No doubt the others will return this way when they have convinced themselves they have lost our trail. Ask the nabob if she knows of a more permanent shelter we can reach before nightfall."

Astron shrugged and told Nimbia what Kestrel had said. Serving as the intermediary came easily now. The conversation flowed almost as swiftly as if they all spoke the same tongue.

"There is no nightfall," Nimbia said. "The soft blue that you saw in the glen remains eternally the same. Fin-varwin and the old ones before him say that our realm is a globe centered inside a hollow sphere that radiates light and heat uniformly. There are no days, no seasons. It is the reason that we find such delight in our creations.

"And as to safety, we will journey to the hill under which I am the absolute ruler. Perhaps, before the other sovereigns decide on how they will combine their forces and attack, there will be enough time to create again- create before the next judging with something that even Finvarwin cannot deny is the best."

"Would not moving and staying hidden be better?" Kestrel asked. "To face again the p.r.o.nouncements of your high king seems fraught with risk."

"I must," Nimbia said. "It is my duty, my duty to my people."

"Duty," Astron repeated slowly. "I know of duty- or at least I thought I did. I come to your realm in

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search for the answer to a riddle because my prince

demands-"

"Come." Nimbia touched her finger to Astron's lips. "The human is right. We must get underhill before Prydwin's sentrymen return."

For what would be hours in the realm of men, Nimbia led Astron and the others through the darkness of the brush. They encountered no sign of Prydwin's followers and eventually emerged on the edge of a clearing similar to the glen in which they had first arrived. Rather than slope down to a stream, however, the gra.s.s-covered ground rose from where they stood. From all sides of the open s.p.a.ce, at first gently and then with increasing slope, the soft greenness underfoot tilted upward to form a high hillock in the very center. Like a great upside-down bowl thrust against the ground, the bulge dominated the landscape; its broad, flat apex stood higher even than the crest of the bushes which edged the clearing.

As Nimbia moved out into the open, the ground underfoot began to vibrate with a great rumbling. The music of pipes and lyres filled the air. Astron saw the hillock shudder slightly and then begin to move. The ground parted with a clean horizontal slit. On dozens of stout pillars, the central portion of the hillock rose slowly into the air.

Brilliant lights, laughter, and music sweet and pure poured out of the opening. Astron saw long banquet tables groaning under piles of glistening fruit and heavy flagons coolly sparkling with a patina of dew. Scores of lithe dancers pirouetted in complex patterns. Laughing jugglers kept dozens of small objects whirling above

their heads.

"Nimbia, Nimbia," dozens of joyful voices called out.

"Our hillsovereign returns."

"She has triumphed at last."

"Finvarwin has been pleased. Look, he gives her three changelings as prize for her great worth."

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"Alert the scribes and the tellers. There will be work for all."

Astron saw a throne of polished stone being pushed into a position of prominence on a dais bathed with colored lights. Two long lines of what looked like pages formed on either side. Small girls began strewing delicate flower petals from the base outward onto the gra.s.s of the clearing. Stout-cheeked pipers stuck long-stemmed pipes into bowls filled with nearly solid geis. With straining lungs, they forced upward bubbles of air that burst and sprayed all those about to their laughing delight. Fragrant odors tickled Astron's nostrils and beckoned him forward .

Nimbia said nothing. With a grim smile, she walked on the path laid for her and beckoned Astron and the others to follow. Accepting a cape richly embroidered and encrusted with jewels, she mounted the steps and sat on her throne. Nimbia looked about the gaily decorated surroundings and Astron saw her face sadden. She breathed out a deep sigh.

"I do not return in triumph," she said simply. "And those that accompany me are responsible that I return at all."

The music stopped as did the clank of flagon and flatware from those who prepared the feast. Smiles fell from the faces of those nearest. Eyes lowered. Many of the faces looked away. For a long moment, the silence filled the hilltop; even the creak of boots and rustle of tunics against one another was stilled.

Then, from the periphery of the hillock, a single piper began playing a slow, sad melody. Others caught the tone and added to it. One of the females close to Nimbia choked on a small sob. Tears began to glisten on the faces of a dozen more. In barely an instant, the infectious joy transformed into a chilling sadness.