Lyndon Hardy - Riddle of the Seven Realms

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 "Once shown to the high king, a creation cannot be withdrawn and substituted with another."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."