Lyndon Hardy - Riddle of the Seven Realms

"One grain will just have to be enou-" Kestrel's answer was drowned by an increased roaring in Astron's ears. Dimly, he was aware of the prickly barbs of a pollen grain being passed through the barrier to waiting hands on the other side and then Kestrel's all too massive bulk straining to follow.

Astron felt his muscles begin to tremble and his consciousness falter. He could resist no more. The barrier closed with a sudden pop and he collapsed onto the flame, the last remnants of his tunic and leggings vanishing in smoke.

"Where have you hidden her?" He looked up to see Byron standing above him with the sword aimed at his eyes. "Quickly, tell me. There appears to be so little time."

Astron's thoughts bounced about his head. He could not control their direction. He tried to push his chest from the smouldering ashes, but his arms trembled and he collapsed back to the earth. Pools of wetness lapped at the flame. Directly in front, he saw three or four of the giant pollen grains begin to shake and bob as rivulets of water wound their way through the dense thicket of radiating spines. Beyond Byron's boots, all he could see were the dim glows of Camonel's fire spheres and, presumably, the shadow of Milligan still slumped in his confinement.

"Talk, I say," Byron persisted. "Tell me in which direction she has run."

Astron looked up at Byron through glazed eyes, but did not speak. The chaos continued to build in his mind. Lead balloons, pollen grains, ultimate precepts, bubbles of reality, symmetries, talismans, almanacs, lightning djinns, the archimage, Nimbia-they all boiled and churned, linking together in strange patterns that the ordinary discipline of his mind would not allow.

Byron scowled and pushed the tip of the sword to Astron's nose, but the demon did not move. The warrior pressed against the guard, bringing forth a drop of ichor and then abruptly pulled the blade away. "An aleator until the end I see," he growled. He looked at the sputtering remains of the anvilwood fire and quickly spun on his feet. "Let us see how loose your tongue becomes when faced with what you believe to be your bane."

Astron saw Byron move out into the dimness and thrust savagely with the sword. He returned in an instant with one of the fire spheres affixed to the tip of his blade. Despite the drenching wetness that seemed to drip from the heavy air, it still managed to sputter and glow. Byron studied the dance of flame for a moment and then thrust it at the nearest of pollen grains at his feet, plunging the two globes together into the soggy ground.

As Camonel's sphere submerged into the water, the fire sputtered out. But just as it did, the pollen grain touching it burst into a white-hot blaze of its own, suddenly glowing with a piercing intensity far more fierce even than what had ignited it.

Astron watched the burning harebell pollen float in the pool of water and burn at the same time, sending up a bubbling cloud of steam to add to the inky fog. He looked at another of the grains directly in front of his face and almost abstractly admired the beauty of the branching net of spines that bristled almost into nothingness.

"Of course." His mouth suddenly seemed to move of its own volition. "It is the same principle as the flour in the realm of reticulates. The tips of the barbs are so sharp and fine that they are perfect for the beginning of a flame. The pollen burned in the realm of the fey; even here in water, it can sustain a blaze."

Astron tried to shake his head free of the ricocheting thoughts, but the undisciplined stembrain would not be reconfined. He saw Byron free his sword from the fire sphere and stab instead at the burning pollen grain. With cruel menace in his face, the warrior brought it forward toward Astron's unprotected eyes.

"And the more difficult the environment, apparently the more intense the fire," Astron babbled on. "The grain smoked and smouldered in the realm of the fey. Here, even water cannot stop the rage of its blaze. In a realm in which it is truly diff-"

Astron stopped. Despite his fatigue he bolted up to sitting. With a savage wrench, he forced back his stem-brain, trying to regain control of his mind.

"It does no good to back away." Byron pressed forward with the burning orb. "A few more steps and you will dissolve into nothingness, as have most of the rest."

"I have solved the riddle!" Astron yelled, ignoring Byron's threat. "It is as Palodad suspected all along, but probably did not dare voice for fear that he might be wrong. The evidence we have here is proof enough. How do you start a fire in the realm of daemon? Why, with harebell pollen, of course. It is the kindling where nothing else will do. Harebell pollen, harebell pollen! It was with us all along. The quest truly is over. The ultimate precept-I have discovered the answer at last."

Byron watched Astron's apparent disregard for the burning globe and hesitated. "The ultimate precept," he said, puzzled. "Old Centuron used to speak of such a thing. Destruction is preordained, he would say. Destruction is preordained-either the sphere of existence is pierced from the outside or the will to believe decays from within."

"No, all of that speculation does not matter." Astron pushed aside Byron's blade. "The wise men of the realms guessed, but they did not know. 'Reality is a bubble,' Finvarwin said. 'Like the pipers blowing into the bowl of quickening gel, it is created by thought.' 'Coalescence follows from similarity,' Abel shouted when his relam was merged with another. Just as the juice and water were mixed for his warriors, two bubbles can be melted into one. And indeed, if the will to believe decays from within, the bubble will col-"

"Luck will be archon." A voice sounded behind Byron. The warrior spun just in time to see Milligan stagger forward out of the gloom with his dagger still in his hand. "With one vertex of the pentagon removed," the aleator said, "I was no longer confined. Luck will be archon, even if I am the only one left who believes."

Milligan began to lunge at Byron, but the ground under his feet gave way and he suddenly sank up to his waist. "The cold! My legs!" he shouted. "It feels as if they are no longer there." An expression of deep shock began to spread over his face as he sagged. With a desperate stab, he reached out with his dagger and swiped at Byron's calf. The warrior staggered to one knee and swung his sword, forcing the burning pollen grain toward Milligan's head.

"If I shall not succeed, then neither will any other," he cried as he smashed the blazing sphere against Milligan's cheek. He grunted as the other aleator's blade struck home again, this time in the warrior's chest.

"It is my destiny." Byron coughed up a spatter of blood. "My destiny just as Centuron said."

Byron's final swipe caught Milligan squarely on the jaw. With a cry of pain cut short, flesh and hair were suddenly consumed in a sickening belch of smoke. For an instant, blood spurted like a fountain from the top of Milligan's neck. Then the small aleator slumped forward to bleed over Byron's more massive form.

Astron hesitated. He watched the black mists sweep even closer. The remaining fire spheres could no longer be seen. In addition to the whirl of thoughts he couid barely control, he felt the pounding panic of his stembrain increase. His limbs stiffened and he could not move. He must get the anvilwood burning again quickly-but he could not.

Despite himself, Astron wrinkled his nose. Besides the solution to the riddle, something else was bothering him. What else was it that Centuron had said about an ultimate precept? How could knowing about harebell pollen be such a powerful secret? Like mismatched elements of a magician's ritual, everything did not fit into a harmonious whole.

Astron gritted his teeth and tried to calm the rush in his mind. Wisps of fog coursed about him and he felt a prickling on his skin, as if it carried strong acids to dissolve him away. He looked at the bodies of Byron and Milligan, beginning to fade into the blackness.