Lyndon Hardy - Riddle of the Seven Realms

Astron held on to his grip for a few moments more, listening to the hiss and gurgle receding into silence. Slowly he dismounted and slid his feet to the ground. In a moment, Nimbia joined him, her face blanked in a daze. Oblivious to their deliverance, she looked at the wet clothing that sagged about the curve of her body.

"If you had the power of weaving, you could dry these instantly," Nimbia said. She fussed a moment at her tunic, still not mended from the battles in the realm of reticulates. "But since you do not, demon, turn your head while I disrobe."

Mixing with the dizziness of their ride, Astron felt a subtle stirring in his stembrain, a tantalizing feeling from before, which he could not quite recognize. They should immediately begin searching for Kestrel and Phoebe, but something else tugged at him.

Astron started to answer, then halted. A flicker of movement up the interior slope above the high-water mark had caught his eye. Almost thankful for the distraction, he touched Nimbia's shoulder and pointed at what he saw. A small tendril of smoke struggled skyward from the foliage.

"Perhaps another aleator," he whispered. "One evidently with luck to burn. Keep on your clothing. This time we will be more forewarned."

Astron led Nimbia up the hillside. The ground became far more rocky and the canopy of trees gave way to scrubbier underbrush and finally an open clearing. Astron strode forward boldly, mustering as much dignity as he could in his soggy clothing. He saw a single figure sitting on a rock beside a small fire, over which was roasting some sort of pig. A horse was hobbled nearby. Next to it, a large pack was propped against a small tent of bright blue.

Upon the noise of their approach, the man looked up slowly from his contemplation, but no expression of surprise crossed his face. Cold blue eyes stared out under a head of golden blond hair, cut shoulder length and straight, with no curl. The face held the smoothness of youth, unwrinkled and without trouble-almost that of a child just aroused from sleep. Broad shoulders, heavily muscled, flexed under a thin, sleeveless shirt that sparkled with an iridescence in the last rays of sunlight filtering into the clearing. The throat of the shirt was thrown open; not a single talisman dangled about the sinewy neck.

"Whom do you seek?" A measured voice cut across the distance, each word unhurried and more of a command than a question.

"Did you not hear the crash of the wave?" Astron walked forward, motioning Nimbia to follow. "I would expect to find anyone who was able to hear its warning cautiously returning to ground from the safety of a high tree, rather than calmly fixing a meal."

"The wave would have reached Byron or it would not." The man shrugged. "There is no need to prepare for what is meant to be."

Astron hesitated a moment and searched about wildly for one of the spheres that Milligan had used to capture his and the others' luck. He saw no signs of one and took another step forward. After his experience with the reflectives, it seemed far easier than before. "You are one of exceedingly good fortune," he said. "I have heard that even the smallest fire dissipates what one has accumulated back into the ether."

Byron looked at Astron sharply. "Are you here to tempt me?" he said. "To test and see if I am worthy?" He stopped and darted his eyes to Nimbia as she approached. Astron watched Byron's nostrils flare and his hands suddenly coil into fists. The warrior's eyes ran slowly over her body and torn tunic. The beat of his pulse stood out strongly on his neck.

"You tempt me, indeed." Byron's voice rumbled quietly. "What is it that you would have me do?"

Astron scowled in annoyance. He recognized the reaction and understood it far better than before. Stepping in front of Nimbia, he threw wide his arms, shielding her as much as he was able.

"We might have something of great benefit," he said quickly. "It all depends on what you can offer as a fair payment in exchange."

"If it is luck of which you speak, then there is no basis for a barter," Byron said. "I have none to offer, nor do I seek any for what I must do."

Astron stirred uncomfortably. "What exactly is it that, ah, that you must do?" he asked.

"Why, travel to the grand casino to contest for the crown with all the others," Byron said. He slapped the long broadsword at his side. "But not in the same manner. If I succeed, it will be because fate wills it, not because of twists of luck."

Astron's interest immediately heightened-the grand casino, exactly where he wanted to go. Only with a firm resolution did he stop himself from looking back at Nim-bia with a smile. "We have experienced firsthand what happens without luck," he said carefully. "Just to survive takes more than a little amount."

"Only because some of the aleators have so distorted it," Byron spat. "They lead the realm to destruction with their tinkering, they work with fluids better left alone. Look," he said, apparently warming to the subject. "The first tenet says that luck is a gas, a perfect one that flows from high pressure to low. Without interference, it distributes itself evenly throughout the realm, favoring no one over another. The forces of fate are free to operate, to work the destinies that are intended for us all.

"But what happens when it is compressed, scooped up from everywhere into a small number of concentrations under the control of only a few? There is less left in the ambience. Without participating in the forbidden rituals, everyone else is stripped of what is his due share. To step from a hut becomes a great adventure; to fill one's stomach is a hunt of great exhaustion. Even the elements are perturbed into extremes. For the fortunate, the air is always clear and balmy. In compensation, gentle rains and waves are compressed into great disasters that prey on those who do not have the protection of the proper talismans.

"With the great accumulations come great new strains and forces," Byron went on, "distortions in the very fabric of what must happen to us all. Those who have accumulated luck must dispense some modicums to their followers, constructing all sorts of charms like those useless husks that drape about your necks. They war not with merit, but depend entirely on those who can force chance outcomes to go their way."

Byron stopped and set his lips in a grim line. "But I will stop them all," he said defiantly. "It is my calling, and to it I will be true."

"You say you have no great accumulation of luck of your own," Astron said. "How do you hope to accomplish your goal?"

"Soon my followers will return and report what they have seen in the bay on the far coast. There Myra has dropped anchor with both her ships. We will attack on the morrow, and one of them will become mine. With it, we will cross the great sea.

"I will stride into the grand casino and win, although luck I have none. Luck favors the believer, states the fourth tenet; it is fickle and hence runs in streaks, professes the fifth. Great manipulations for enhancement and devices for reversing good to ill are built upon the two of them, but neither shall I use."

"But if you have no advantage and they-"

"I am destiny's darling," Byron thundered. "The great sagas of our past have finally been incarnated in me. I am untouched by wind or wave. I am the one to weave together the last threads of the tapestry of our fate into one final design."

Byron stopped and looked into the growing darkness. "It is true that how I will triumph is hidden. Even I do not know the means. My journey to the grand casino may be but a testing, a proof that I am worthy of being the instrument of fate. But in the moment of crisis, in the final spin of the wheel, my power will be revealed and I will be victorious, as from the beginning of time it is written that I would."