Finally, Astron reached the height of the drooping calyx of the harebell. All he could see of the flower's interior was blotted by the carpet of coarse orange-and-black hairs on the back of the bee. He wrapped his legs as securely as he could about the swinging stem and stretched out his hand containing the burning pollen grain.
Only a small curved disk remained of what once was a sizable sphere. He blew down the length of his arm but the flame responded only sluggishly. A few wisps of black rose into the bowl of the flower. Astron exhaled vigorously, pushing as much life as he could into the remains of the smoke. The twitching of the bee as it twisted itself deeper into the harebell slowed but did not stop altogether.
Astron looked at the remains of the pollen grain and the progress of the bee. Something more desperate would be needed if Kestrel was to be saved. Almost without thinking, he discarded the last dying embers and coiled himself up into a ball on the wavering stem. Then kicking as best he could, he hurled himself across the distance to the dangling flower, grabbing the hairs on the bee's back with both his hands.
With a noise like ripping paper, the bee's claws tore through the petals as the added weight pulled it downward. In an instant, the insect was dragged free; with Astron clinging to its back it hurled toward the ground.
Once free of the confines of the blossom, the huge wings exploded into a blur of action. Stinging blasts of cold air raced across Astron's body as the insect tried to right itself. The bee lurched to the right and Astron felt a stab of pain in his shoulder as he struggled to maintain a grip. With a flip that hurled Astron up over the insect's back, the bee wobbled into a horizontal position. But the ground came rushing up too fast. With a jarring thud, they crashed into the ground.
Astron felt the air rush from his lungs as he slammed into the bristly back. Stunned, he rolled to the side and fell to the ground. The bee tried to rise on its legs, but only uncoordinated spasms shook its body. Its wings fluttered out of synchronization, blowing up a scatter of dewdrops among the wide blades of grass that covered the slope.
Astron looked quickly about, trying to clear his vision. He saw motion near the base of the stem and guessed that Kestrel was scrambling to safety. A pungent odor began to fill his nostrils; he saw the stinger of the bee at his side fully extended and glistening with a foul-smelling oil. In awkward steps on three legs, the insect was gradually turning its abdomen about to where Astron swayed as he tried to regain his composure. His head still rang from the contact and, against his will, he fell to one knee.
'Come on,' Kestrel shouted behind him. 'Somehow they can communicate. Look, the others are coming to the aid of the one you brought down.'
Astron felt a firm grip under his arm and rose reluctantly to his feet. He followed Kestrel's tug and began to place one foot in front of another. Almost mindlessly, he picked up speed and began running up the slope. The ringing in his head grew more intense and almost painful. He placed his hands over his ears, trying to concentrate on keeping up with the human as he ran.
Almost without knowing, they reached the ragwort and burst over the hill crest. Astron's vision began to clear; the high buzz in his ears started to fade away. In a few moments, they had raced down onto the wet flatlands and were heading back to Nimbia's underbill.
'You did it again, Astron,' Kestrel said after they had caught their breaths. 'You saved me when you had no real cause. First Phoebe and then you. I'm starting to expect it. It's almost enough to restore my faith in human nat-'
Kestrel paused, looked at Astron's demonic features carefully, and then laughed. 'Well, maybe that would be going just a bit too far,' he said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ASTRON and Kestrel retraced their journey across the hills and glens as rapidly as they could. Without the fey to guide them and no directional aids in the sky, their progress was slowed. More than once, they wandered away from the faint trails and were set right only by Astron's keen eye and memory for detail. It was only after Kestrel had risen from his fifth sleep that they estimated that Nimbia's underhill was drawing near.
The last lush green hill beckoned them forward. Sparse groupings of blooming foxglove and withered cowslip past its prime dotted the hillocks. A carpet of ferns crowded close onto the muddy trail that squished in wetness with each step.
'So you knew nothing of thaumaturgy before possessing the archimage's book,' Kestrel said as he paused for breath where the slope steepened. 'Burning lenses and alchemical balloons. You are well on the way to becoming a master of many arts yourself.'
Astron shook his head. 'No, as I have tried to explain, nothing I have done involves any magical skill. I have learned only of adjuncts that can be used independent of the crafts-by you as well as any other.'
'This journey has given me no more knowledge of the magical arts.' Kestrel shook his head. 'Indeed, if it were not for Phoebe's safety, I would not even be here.' He shielded his eyes from the diffuse glare, trying to catch sight of something familiar. 'Come,' he said, 'we have wasted too much time already.'
'It is because I am a cataloguer,' Astron continued as they resumed their march. 'Unlike my brethren, I look beyond the facts as they are presented to the deductions that logically follow.'
Despite his rush, Kestrel laughed. 'If I were to judge, looking beyond what is apparent is perhaps where your faculties need mostly to be sharpened.'
'What do you mean?' Astron wrinkled his nose. 'As you have said, I was the one who calculated that balloons of lead could fly, that-'
'And the one who did not understand how a group of wizards would react when presented the opportunity for monetary gain.' Kestrel held up his hand to stop the protest. 'Nor even how to entrap the imps which you say you have known for eras.
'There is more to thought than a logical progression from one truth to another, Astron. Sometimes there is value as well in postulating alternatives, in letting ideas flow free.'
Astron's puzzlement deepened. 'I do not understand. How can such lack of discipline help me in my quest? Our course is clear; we merely have to follow the path to its end.'
Kestrel rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. He looked up to the hilltop. For a long moment they trudged in silence.
'Well, for example, consider the matter of this Gaspar of yours,' Kestrel resumed after they had climbed thrice the height of a man.
'He is not my prince,' Astron said. 'He would find my existence not pleasing. In a tick of time, I would be given to the lowest of his djinns for sport. I serve Elezar, who finds pleasure in riddle and delicate weavings, rather than explosion and chaos.'
'Exactly so.' Kestrel panted. 'From what little you have told me, Gaspar is a demon most unlikely to compose a riddle that would baffle your prince. Even if he could, it would not be his style. Think of it, Astron. Why has Gaspar acted as he has? From where has he obtained the plan to baffle your prince? There are inconsistencies here that cry for explanation.' Kestrel shrugged and then put on a fresh burst of speed.
'That is what you should be thinking of,' he said, 'the deeper meaning of the riddles, not the relative weight of air and lead.'
Astron adjusted his pack and hurried to keep pace. 'Then what is the answer?' he asked. 'Tell me what secrets this other way of thinking reveals. Do you mean to imply that Gaspar is under the control of a wizard, just as Elezar has succumbed to the archimage-that there is a being in some realm with a will great enough to subdue a prince of the lightning djinns?'
Kestrel stopped a second time at the crest of the last hill, while Astron struggled to catch up. 'I do not know enough of your realm,' the human said. 'Perhaps there is no substance to my conjecture and everything is proceeding as it has been presented. But, as I have suggested, let your thoughts roam free. Perhaps, when you least expect it, an insight will come.'
Astron wrinkled his nose. 'It is hard to see the utility of such speculation,' he said. 'Although if that is the
