ASTRON watched the djinn vanish back into the flame. He glanced at Kestrel and Phoebe and saw what he more or less expected. Both stood transfixed in wide-eyed wonder. He remembered how his own stembrain had seized control on his first visit and how he had barely hid in time.
The trio stood next to one of three small fires, beside a stream that flowed between the gently rising slope of a rustic glade. The hillsides were covered with a carpet of thick grass, each blade the size of Astron's legs. Scattered here and there were huge flowers of red and gold, towering into the sky on giant stems from clumps of thick foliage. The proportions were all wrong, but in the realm of men they would be called foxglove, white-thorne, primrose, and thyme. A ring of mushrooms, each as big as a small hut, circled the hillsides in a single precise line halfway up the slopes. On the crests, the flowering bushes merged into a thick forest of glistening leaves.
No one else appeared to be present, but behind them on the bank stood a large granite-gray boulder with what looked like a wooden door in the side. The trilling of distant pipes blended with the sigh of a gentle breeze.
Astron pointed to the hillcrest. Gently, he guided the other two upward and into the shadowy cover. They moved perhaps fifty steps and then ducked beneath a low-lying leaf that was easily the size of the largest djinn. The soft sky glow that was everywhere the same winked out into inky blackness. The click of large insects in the distance blended with the crunch of lichen underfoot. Astron sniffed the fungal pungency of his surroundings and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
The canopy of leaves was not complete. After a moment, Astron could see the diffuse light from the pale blue sky trickle between jagged edges and paint the thin spots between the huge, webby veins with an iridescent glow. Behind him perhaps some ten paces, Astron knew, was a coarse and woody trunk that soared as high into the sky as the tallest structure in the realm of men. Thick emerald branches cantilevered out into a shower of leaves that hung nearly to the ground. Between the stem and the circling umbrella of foliage was the shelter in which they hid. One had to proceed cautiously in the realm of the fey, much more so than in the worlds of men.
"Where are we?" Kestrel finally found his voice. "And look at the size of this-this ragwort! What kind of giants are we among?"
"We were lucky we arrived when we did," Astron said as he retrieved the book of thaumaturgy from Kestrel's rucksack. "From the looks of things, the ring has not yet begun to form."
He wrinkled his nose, wondering what to do next. Somewhere in this realm, according to Palodad, was the answer to the riddle. But beyond that, there was no clue. And from the tone of his prince's voice, what little time had been left was almost totally gone.
Astron felt the tug of his stembrain, but wrestled it into submission. All of the imps that had pursued him in the realm of men did not help matters. And in the ward of the archimage, two colossal djinns had appeared as well. With all the traffic between the realms, Gaspar could not help but be close behind. It would be a race to see if he or Elezar would be the first to fall.
And what of the humans? At least one would be needed to wrest the harebell pollen through the barrier when the time came, but what would happen after that? Their own realm had grown increasingly inhospitable, and his was no place for any other kind.
He saw Phoebe draw near Kestrel, and the woodcutter put his arm about her waist. The crease in Astron's nose deepened. He had been with these two far longer than with any other mortals and he had learned many things. But if he were asked to explain their behavior to his prince, he would not be able to do so.
The one called Kestrel could speak of things that had no existence whatsoever in the reality of any of the realms. After the flight from the cabin of the wizard, he had seemed reluctant to continue the journey to the archimage. Then, after the terms of their agreement had been satisfied, he had continued the quest through the flame, not in response to the command of any prince, but apparently of his own volition. Despite these contradictions, Kestrel had the skill to manipulate a half-dozen imps as if he were a practiced wizard. There was much more to be learned from this mortal and new experiences to be felt and tasted before their journey together was over.
Astron looked at Phoebe, who was smiling at Kestrel in the dimness. A bonding was growing between the two-perhaps even the one that men wrote so much about in their sagas. What could be so different from the duty to couple with a broodmother whenever a prince commanded?
"I knew you would come," Phoebe said.
"Yes, and evidently now we must see it to the end." Kestrel answered. "Instead of merely weaving a story for the archimage, all we have to do is solve a demon's riddle, discover the most powerful natural law of them all, transport harebell pollen, whatever that is, across a flaming barrier, and restore a prince to power, thereby saving the entire realm of men. Then we might have a chance somehow to return to the archimage and convince him that we were right all along."
Phoebe laughed. "You left out the part about a female wizard proving her worth," she said.
Kestrel snorted. "At least it does not appear quite as bad as I had imagined. Except for the size of things, this could well be a sheltered valley in any of the the kingdoms that border the great sea. Once we understand better what goes on here, we just might survive after all."
Astron looked out onto the glade a second time. The trill of the pipes was louder, and soon there was motion on the crest across the way. A row of flute players bobbed into view. Behind them, several rows of dancers were leaping in unison to the sad melody that wafted through the air.
The leaves rustled at Astron's side and he smelled a sweet fragrance as Phoebe drew near. "We must be dreaming," she said as she squinted up at the procession. "Look, Kestrel, besides the creatures of a childhood tale, what else could they be?"
Astron looked intently at the procession. The pipers and dancers were drawing close enough that rough features could be seen. The tallest would tower two heads above Astron, but a weighing scale would tip in the demon's favor. Slender limbs protruded from tunics of deep green, and long delicate fingers arched gracefully over the shafts of the flutes. Tumbling curls of gold bounced above delicate features that gave no hint of gender. They were lithe and thin, like the skyskirr, but somehow shrouded in a delicate beauty, rather than a repulsiveness that made men want to turn away.
The step of the pipers was light, and those of the dancers lighter still. In impossibly long glides, they darted from one point of the slope to another, hovering in midleap till they barely touched the ground.
"Men know of the fey?" Astron asked. "The words of the archimage lead one to believe that this realm should be as new to your kind as was that of the skyskirr some few time-ticks ago."
"Only in legend," Kestrel whispered back. "Tales for wee ones to send them to sleep. Strange beckoning music that one must at all costs avoid. Outwelling light from deep forest mounds. Tiny enough to hide in the bowl of a flower or under a curling leaf-not the size of a man; the scale is all wrong."
Kestrel stopped and darted a quick look around at his surroundings. Cautiously he reached upward and stroked the fine hairs that lined the underside of the leaf overhead. "Legend," he muttered, "a coincidence. It can be no more than that."
Astron saw more ranks come over the crestline of the hill. He spotted the dull sheen of copper and felt the stir of his stembrain. Two more lines of pipers marched in precise step behind the dancers, their faces all grim and unsmiling, and with unsheathed blades attached to their belts. While those before them descended to the stream that transected the glade, the sentrymen fanned out to circle the shallow bowl. In a matter of a few moments, they were standing at attention, a sentry next to each of the toadstools that ringed the glade. One was barely a stone's throw from where Astron and the others hid.
The trilling of the pipes intensified. Astron saw a litter come over the crest of the hill. Surrounded by fluttering attendants, what could only be the equivalent of a prince's carriage jostled down the slope. The one inside was dressed in a tunic like the rest, but fancy embroideries of brilliant reds decorated a green deeper than that worn by the others. A garland of tiny blossoms crowned the brow where the yellow curls had faded to the color of pale straw.
Behind the first ruler came a second and a third, and then a disarray of others, some in clumps of twenty and others in twos and threes. The chatter of many voices began to be heard among the melody of the pipes. Occasionally what Astron thought might be tinkling laughter sounded with the rest. Finally, the litters came to a halt directly in front of the door into the rock. All the music faded away. The richly dressed occupant of the first rose to his feet and spread his arms to the sky. His face showed the first signs of age, and there was a cruel hardness in his eye. His melodic voice, barely deeper than that of a human woman, filled the air.
"What is happening?" Kestrel whispered. "Can you understand the tongue?"
"Yes," Astron said. "On my previous visit I learned it well from one kinder than the rest." He concentrated for a moment on the words coming from the stream side and began translating them for his companions.
"Come forward, high king Finvarwin, venerated judge. It is the season," Astron repeated. "Come forward, Finvarwin, and decide which creations have sufficient beauty, which will be granted the privilege of continued life. Tell us all who will receive the rewards for their efforts and who must render service as penalty for failure. I, hillsovereign Prydwin, speaking for all the others, request your presence."
The wooden door suddenly swung outward. A frail and stooped figure shuffled out into the light. The top of his head was totally bald, with a few long stringiets of bleached gold hanging to his shoulders. His face looked caved in, as if struck by a mighty blow. Squinting eyes sat atop a flattened nose. The chin jutted out from under a mouth long since vacant of teeth. Rather than a tunic of green, the newcomer wore a long robe of white, cinched at the waist with a rope made of vines.
"I am ready," Astron heard Finvarwin say. "I will judge as I have so many times in the past."
Finvarwin waved his hand out over the assemblage and then shielded his eyes. "Which one is Nimbia?" he asked. "Which one attempts to create without the aid of a mate?"
One of the fey standing somewhat apart from the rest came forward and dipped her head. "It is my creation that you have asked to inspect, venerated one. May your judgment be keen and fair."
"Look at that one!" Kestrel suddenly gasped in a voice almost loud enough for the nearest sentryman to hear. "I do not know how these creatures judge, but if she were in Procolon, men would fight for just one of her smiles."
Astron looked more closely at the one called Nimbia. She was a bit shorter than the rest, about his own height, and wore a plain tunic, with no added embroidery. Her face was slender, with soft angles, high cheeks, and a tiny upturned nose. Large eyes danced beneath a halo of gold. The way she moved was in some indescribable way different from the rest, a dancelike flow of smoothness, to be sure, but yet each step brought attention to the bounce of her breasts. In the realm of men, she indeed would be judged a great beauty, Astron thought, and from what little he did know of the fey, in their underhills as well. He puzzled for a second time about the lust that went beyond the duty to couple and wondered if it affected those before him in the same way as it did Kestrel and his kin.
"You will be the last," Astron heard Finvarwin say to Nimbia. "I will judge first those more likely to prove worthy. Vastowen, prepare the ring for the use of all."
The occupant of the second litter, more heavy-set than the rest, bowed and then addressed the assemblage. "A dozen djinns," he said. "At least a dozen for I am confident that what I have started has begun to grow of its own volition."
The pipes again started their trilling. Everyone present focused their attention to the three fires burning on the streambank. Vastowen motioned to one of the females standing nearby. Shyly, she came forward and clasped his extended hand. Together they waded across the stream to the side on which Astron and the others hid.
Vastowen grabbed a handful of powder from a pouch at his waist. With a fluid motion he distributed the dust into the three fires. The flames roared skyward, each suddenly a brilliant purple of glistening heat.
"Come forward, djinns of the circle, I command you," Vastowen said. "Come forward and make the bridge so that we can see into elsewhere."
"He is a wizard!" Phoebe said. "A wizard, but evidently a foolish one at that. One djinn is sufficient a contest of wills for anyone; against a dozen no one can withstand."
"They are all wizards," Astron said. He felt his stem-brain stir at the thought. "The high king, the hillsovereigns, the litter bearers, even the sentrymen formed into the ring. It is what makes a journey here so risky for one of my kind. The struggle of dominance or submission could occur with each and every one that I meet."
Astron waved at the figures before him, now all concentrating on the three fires at Vastowen's feet. "And if a single one of them has insufficient strength, he can enlist the aid of another. In twos and threes or even scores, they can meld their wills as one. A solitary devil or even a prince is no match for the scores you see before you here. They can summon and control a dozen djinns with ease. It is no wonder that none of the princes who rule cast covetous thoughts toward a realm such as this."
As Astron spoke, a transcendent djinn materialized in the first of the three purple flames. In an instant after, the other two were populated as well. Vastowen waved his arm in a great vertical circle. Astron heard the great demons grunt acquiescence, bowing their massive heads to their chests.
The djinn from the second flame beat his wings. With one great stroke he vaulted onto the shoulders of the first. Wisps of purple plasma trailed along with his jump; when the third took position on top of the second, the slender column of flame rose to an unbelievable height. The air roared with bubbling energy. Astron felt the heat penetrate even the shelter in which he hid.
More djinns appeared in the two abandoned fires. Each after his display of submission placed himself on top of those who had preceded him. In a matter of moments, a column of twelve djinns encased in a sheath of dancing flame ascended high into the pale sky.
"And now the circle, I command you," Vastowen said when the last had taken his position. "A great ring of demonic flame from the realm of the fey to the one that I direct."
A terrible groan escaped from twelve mouths in unison. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. But imperceptibly and then moving faster, the column bowed from the vertical and arced toward Astron's right. The djinns each gripped their hands upon the legs of the one above and the topmost of all extended his arms over his head, reaching out into the empty air.
Like a supple blade of steel, the column of djinns bent more and more to the right, the one at the base leaning farther and farther in the opposite direction in response to the lateral forces which pushed on his shoulders. For a moment, the topmost demon cantilevered parallel to the horizon; then, with increasing speed, he turned head downward as the curvature of the column increased.
The tower bent into a great hook and tightened further. All around the loop, what had been the topmost djinn touched ground a span away from the fire into which were still anchored the feet of the first. Now nearly horizontal himself, the last djinn in the line pulled himself forward with his hands until he was able to grasp the legs of the first and drag them onto his shoulders. The dozen djinns had formed themselves into a fiery ring that was four times the height of a tall man.
Astron felt Phoebe stiffen next to him. The power of twelve mighty djinns bent to a single purpose probably was something that she could not easily imagine. But in the realm of the fey, Astron knew, such feats were commonplace, a single element in their own complex rituals. As he watched, the pale sky that was surrounded by the ring clouded and darkened. The groans of the djinns intensified into shrieks of true pain. The air heaved and buckled, distorting the view of the hillside beyond the ring. Bolts of lightning materialized out of nothing. Rolling thunder echoed throughout the glen.
The scene within the ring dissolved into a blur of dull colors. The hillside appeared to melt into a formless slag that oozed outward to the edges of the ring. Eventually, the entire area of the enclosed circle was nothing but an indistinct gray that occasionally pulsed and twitched.
"Is this a sorcery?" Kestrel asked. "An illusion like the ones constructed on Morgana across the great sea in my own realm?"
"Of the five arts used by men, only wizardry is employed by the fey," Astron said. "They are using that single art now to command those of my kind to open a passage into yet another realm." Astron paused and squinted at the amorphous blandness contained by the ring. "But look how they accomplish it! Not a small path that flits an imp from one universe to another. Yes, I understand now that I witness the event firsthand. Within the ring we can all see from one realm to another."
As Astron spoke, the grayness began to take on shape. Colors deepened. Bright lights started to shine through the gloom. Muted tones appeared first, and then saturated reds and yellows. In sunbursts of color, tiny, bright, spinning balls came into sharp focus. Moving in complex yet graceful trajectories, what appeared to be intricately carved spheres spun rapidly on randomly aligned axes and darted in and out of sight within the boundaries of the ring. Occasionally two would pass close by one another and alter their velocities, revolving for a moment about a common center before dashing on.
"Ah, the music of the spheres," Vastowen said. "Look at the vibrancy of the dance, Finvarwin. I included no friction so they will orbit about one another forever. I-"
The female next to Vastowen pulled on his hand. He stooped forward to listen to what she had to say. For a moment they exchanged animated whispers, then he nodded and reached into a second pouch at his belt.
"And there is yet more, Finvarwin," he called to the high king. "My soulmate's inspiration soars beyond the richness of what has already been revealed. Look, we cast in more pollen and with our combined effort cause there to be more."
A cluster of small nodules sped from Vastowen's grasp and through the ring of djinns. The scene wavered and trembled, returning back to a muted gray. Astron saw the female fall to one knee with a gasp, although she did not release her grip on the hand of her mate. Beads of sweat popped into being on Vastowen's smooth brow. Wiping away the salty drops that streamed into his eyes, he stared at the opening, straining until his arms and legs began to tremble.
In silence, everyone around the glen watched the opaque grayness of the disk. Then, as quickly as it had formed, the indistinct fog retreated to reveal once again the whirl of the brightly colored orbs. Only this time Astron noticed there were more of them rushing among one another with trajectories tightly packed. In an instant, two collided with a burst of brilliant light. In the wake of the collision, dozens of even smaller spheres, as bright and complexly decorated as their parents, popped into being and exploded outward in wild arcs of their own.
"It is not rich enough." Finvarwin waved his arm at the display. "I need not waste time by seeing more. A multitude of such dim fuzziness soon becomes tiring. I suspect that eventually all of those tiny blobs will dissipate far from one another, devoid of interest. No one will want to watch. Everything that you have shown will all fade away."
"No!" Vastowen shouted. "The creation has volition. I know it does. I can feel the energy of its life forces pulsing inside. Suspend judgment if you must. Let the patterns intermingle and produce new variations. We can all wait and thrill in its blossoming richness, which will be all the greater when we gather the next time."
"You know the rules as well as any hillsovereign." Prydwin stepped forward to stand next to Vastowen. "Once shown to the high king, a creation cannot be withdrawn and substituted with another."
"But we added to the basic premise even as you watched. Surely that-"
"Enough," Finvarwin said. "You have presented fairly, and fairly have I judged."
Vastowen opened his mouth as if to say more, but he looked around the glade and stopped. Even the retainers that had come with him had backed away from his litter and did not return his glance. Vastowen dropped his mate's hand to his side. The scene within the ring of djinns returned to a muted gray. With hushed expectancy all of the fey awaited Finvarwin's next words.
"To Prydwin," he said. "Yes, to Prydwin. The entire underhill in its entirety. To dissipate Vastowen's holdings among the rest, rather than grant a single boon, might encourage similar exhibitions of little skill."
"Thank you, venerated one." Prydwin quickly sank to one knee and tilted his head. "I will make great use of the resources that you have so generously-"
"Enough," Finvarwin said. "Who is next? What does he present?"
"But the disposition of your largesse." Prydwin rose to standing. "It is only right that everyone knows."
Finvarwin grunted. Prydwin's face broke into a smile. He turned to face Vastowen and his mate. "For you, hill sovereign, my mercy will be swift. You may choose which of my sentrymen will guide his dagger to your heart."
The expression on Vastowen's face did not flicker. "My sovereign," he mumbled. Glancing for a final time at his mate, he squeezed her hand and then pointed out randomly at the circle of mushrooms. "That one," he said. "That one will be as good as any."
"Not yet." Prydwin put up his hand to stop the sentry from leaving his post. "First there is the matter of the rest. You will probably want to hear."
Prydwin turned his attention to the litter bearers and the others of Vastowen's retinue. "For those who remained underhill and did not come, their penalty is to travel to my own domain and there begin service as I direct. You there, carry back the empty chair so that they will know that their hillsovereign is no more.
"As for the rest who were so bold as to accompany their liege." Prydwin's smile broadened. "Your yells and screams shall serve to inspire me to greater creations still. The pain may not be brief, but at least you will have the consolation of adding to the greatness of the art."
Several of the fey around Vastowen's litter suddenly started to run; but before they had travelled a dozen steps, the sentrymen cut off their escape and herded them back toward the stream.
The first two began whimpering softly as their hands and feet were bound with a vine bristling with thorns. Like slaughtered pigs, they were fastened to a beam that was placed between two pairs of crossed stakes. The oily contents of a plant bladder was spilled over their tunics. Then, without further ceremony, they were set ablaze.
The fires burned slowly, billowing up dense clouds of pungent black smoke. Through a growing haze, Astron could see the march of the smouldering flames burning outward from where they were first lit, down each leg and arm and toward the head.
The death cries of the fey were high and piercing, so much so that even Kestrel had to release Phoebe so he could cover his ears. Astron saw the complexion of the two humans wash chalky white as they stared at what they saw.
"Let us be away," Phoebe whispered urgently. "They are so many. This is no place for us."
"We do not know where." Astron shook his head. "A moment more and perhaps something of value might be learned. See, the sounds have stopped and the hillsovereign Prydwin speaks again."
Astron translated Prydwin's words. "Those are the briefest. The rest I will save for later when there will be more time to enjoy."
He looked at Vastowen's wooden face and chuckled. "I have saved the best for last," he said. "Your mate, Thuvia, is a comely one. I think that my creations too will benefit from the experience of her pleasures."
Vastowen looked toward Thuvia, tears streaming from his eyes. "Do not be afraid," he said so that Astron could barely hear. "Perhaps he will be gentle."
"Gentle?" Prydwin suddenly barked with laughter. "To my underhill and remove her of her garments," he roared. "Prepare the pinchers and tongs. We will see if you judge me gentle."
"Enough of the unimportant," Finvarwin's reedy voice cut in. "Who is to be next in the judging?"
"I am, venerated one," Prydwin said. He turned his attention away from Vastowen's followers, their fates apparently totally dismissed from his mind.
The hillsovereign gestured to the females who stood by his litter, and one came forward to stand with him in front of the ring of demons. With an almost staged casualness, he waved his arms once, dissipating the muted gray in an instant. Splotches of color filled the disk, reds and yellows and vivid greens. Like an artist's palette left in the sun, the hues flowed into one another, creating greater blotches still of purples and orange.
To Astron, the motion appeared to be quite random. Only the greater size and amorphous shape distinguished what he was seeing from Vastowen's spheres.
"I sense the power of your creation," Finvarwin said after a moment of watching the slow movement within the ring. "The massive forms transform with purpose and dedication. Yes, the creation is worthy-not as complex as those of the chronoids and reticulates that you have seen before, but vibrant nonetheless. There is no penalty, Prydwin. Instead you fairly may receive a boon."
"You have blessed me many times already, venerated one," Prydwin said. "Of material things I have little want. I ask instead that you give me knowledge, arcane knowledge of our own realm that only you remember, knowledge so that my own worth might grow."
"Very well then, the answer to three questions shall be your prize. Think of them carefully, Prydwin. When all ceremonies have been completed, then you may ask."
Prydwin tipped his head to the high king and retreated back to his litter, satisfaction wreathing his face.
"Who next?" Finvarwin repeated. "Who next to be judged by the high king?"
Astron heard a soft murmur run through the assemblage on the other bank of the stream, but neither the owner of the third litter nor any other came forth.
Finvarwin waited a moment more and then motioned toward Nimbia. "Then the time has come," he said, "the time for the reckless one who dares to create without a mate."
Nimbia waded across the stream and addressed herself to the ring of djinns. She performed no bold display, but the gray began to dissolve slowly away. Astron saw that, rather than into a riot of color, it transformed into a field of deepest black.
Astron squinted his eyes to shield them from the glare of the sparks that danced around the circle of djinns. He drew his membranes into place, and that helped even more. In the smoothness of the deep ebony he saw the beginnings of subtle movement and then a texturing that rippled across the field of view from left to right. An occasional glint of light, reflecting from an unseen source, gave a sheen to the surface, highlighting at first regularly arranged depressions and then ribs and furrows that oscillated in sinuous patterns.
With each passing moment, the texture of the surface changed from one form to another. Astron watched fascinated, not able to predict what would happen next, but delighting in each new variation as it emerged. The effect was totally unlike the presentations of either of the other two; the slow melodic pace soothed, rather than agitated with jerks and starts. Astron glanced at the high king, wondering what his judgment would be.
"Enough," Finvarwin said. "I let us view longer in order to give you the benefit of the doubt. But there is little there to distract one from a boredom greater even than the attempt of Vastowen. The punishment can be no less. To Prydwin with your underbill, Nimbia. It is for hillsovereigns who are proficient in their art to hold sway over the fey."
"Sentrymen, to your duty." Prydwin motioned from his litter. "Arrange an escort so that her honor might not be unduly tempted. Bring her with Thuvia. It will be a pleasure deciding which will be first."
"Never," Nimbia suddenly shouted in a voice almost as deep as that of a male. "I will not meekly submit like Vastowen, just because a few wish it so. Our traditions are ancient ones, but there are times when even they must be disobeyed."
She kicked at the dagger of the first sentryman who approached, sending the blade twirling to the ground. Then scrambling in front of him, she retrieved the knife before the surprised guard could react. With a wide swipe, she spun quickly about, waving off the others who had begun to approach.
She looked quickly at those who stood near the high king and then at the sentrymen converging from across the stream. "You all saw the images," she shouted. "You do not need the age of Finvarwin to search for small subtle differences. Be true to what your eyes have shown you. Mine was a true creation, a difficult balance of predator and prey. Prydwin's was no more than the bubbling flow of plasma, thick pastes swirling in convection in a heated pot."
Except for the closing sentrymen, no one moved. Finvarwin squinted at Nimbia, then shook his head.
"Your underhill is no better protected than all the rest, Nimbia," the high king said. "Against all the rest, eventually it will fall. You are dealing with the inevitable. Prydwin has offered to accept you as his mate. Go with him in peace. Perhaps together the two of you will combine to produce an imagination greater then either of its parts-just as the fourth dictum states."
"Prydwin!" Nimbia spat. "Never." She waved the dagger in the air. "Who among you has the courage to act as his heart tells him?" she called out. "The courage to aid a lady of the realm when she calls in distress?"
"The hillsovereign speaks with too much boldness for one defending herself alone," Prydwin said. "Fan out and cover all of the trails. She may have aid just beyond our view."
"That is the signal that we start to move." Kestrel tugged at Astron's arm. "I doubt it will do us any good to be mistaken for part of the losing party."
Astron shrugged off Kestrel's hand. "The one named Finvarwin is one that we need to interrogate further. Perhaps more than any other he would know of harebell pollen and even the ultimate precept."
"Yes, the old one certainly," Kestrel whispered back. "But at a time when not so many are about. Now we must be going, before it is too late. Being hunted in two realms should be enough, even for a demon."
Astron looked out at the ring closing in on Nimbia. He glanced over his shoulder in the dimness. Kestrel was right. There was a path leading through the dense underbrush and he should lead, because he was more familiar with what they would encounter.
Astron glanced a second time at Nimbia. His thoughts took a strange turn. Kestrel also had been right about how to get the imps into a bottle. The way the human had planned to manipulate the wizards at Phoebe's cabin was something no demon would have conceived on his own. For the dozenth time he realized there was much about the mortal that Astron wished to learn.
But the words Kestrel spoke were sometimes so unexpected and peculiar that Astron could not fully comprehend the intent-duty to oneself rather than a prince, lures for gold djinns when none such existed, or travelling through the flame for Phoebe and no other.
Perhaps mere words would not be enough to unravel the mysteries of men; perhaps their experiences would have to be sampled before understanding could come. Astron looked one final time at Phoebe and Kestrel, standing close together with their arms about each other, and made up his mind.
He stripped away the hood and cape from his back. Gripping the book of thaumaturgy firmly in both hands, he suddenly sprang out from the cover of the heavy leaves. The sentryman standing nearest turned in the direction of the rustling sound, but grappled for his dagger too slowly to defend himself as Astron rushed forward. The demon swung the book high overhead and then crashed it down on the skull of the startled guard.
The fey crumpled to the ground. Astron staggered to retain his balance and somehow managed to tuck the bulky volume under his arm. He bounded down the hillock toward where Nimbia still waved a dagger of her own. A shout of alarm went up from the onlookers. Everyone seemed to freeze in their tracks. Astron felt the beginning of a compelling pressure in the depths of his thoughts.
He grimaced in resistance, pulling his face into a tight little ball, forcing the mental probes away. Through eyes half closed, he saw Nimbia dip her dagger cautiously as he ran up and extended his free hand.
"To safety, through the underbrush," Astron shouted as he closed. "If no one else will defend you, then I am the one."
Nimbia hesitated a moment, but then firmly clasped Astron's outstretched wrist. He felt a surprising tingling when the smoothness of her skin touched his, but pushed the sensation away. Almost jerking Nimbia from her feet, he reversed direction and began racing back up the hill.
The pressure against his thoughts increased. The fey dealt with a demon by force of will, not slashing blades. He felt the probes of many minds mold into one unifying whole. "Stop, desist," a voice inside his head seemed to say. "We are many and you are one. You cannot resist the combined will of us all."
Astron stumbled over a small rock, but continued his climb. His limbs began to stiffen. The panic in his stem-brain stirred from its slumber. As they reached the sentryman Astron had felled, Nimbia drew even with the demon. In half a dozen more steps she was tugging on the grip between them, pulling Astron forward into the cover of the bush,
"Why did you do that?" Kestrel shouted as the pair ducked under the leaf. "Have you gone mad? Has some wizard put you under his control?"
"I do not know for certain," Astron said thickly. He waved at Phoebe and then dropped his arm heavily to his side. "But then I would not have had to, if you had explained-explained why you rescued your wizard when you could have been safely away from her cabin."