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.
He must remain in control, he thought as he struggled with the forces inside himself. He had to marshal discipline as never before. To succumb now would certainly ensure defeat. He had his duty to his prince; he must-
No, the passion thundered in his head. If only for his prince, then indeed he need not struggle more. With a stembrain running amok, to dissolve here in the realm of the aleators was as good a fate as any. But it was no longer only for his prince. The quest was for Nimbia as well.
She had called him by name, he recalled with sudden clarity-not 'demon' but 'Astron.' 'Astron, help me,' she had said. It was a recognition that he served her not as subject but as equal. Yes, she was the one for whom he would continue the struggle. It was for Nimbia- Nimbia, queen of the fey.
Astron took a deep breath in the manner of men. The thought of pleasure not yet tasted flowed through his mind, bringing a small measure of calm. Yes, for Nimbia. For Nimbia and-and for himself being with her as well.
Straining against the stiffness in his limbs, Astron reached down and picked up Byron's sword. With jerky spasms, he touched the pollen grain to the remains of the anvilwood. Despite being half buried in the ooze, the logs again sputtered to life. Just as the last rush of blackness reached him, Astron struggled to merge with the flames.
PART SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
'I do not like it.' Kestrel frowned as Phoebe pulled away from the embrace. 'What little strength we have grows weaker the more separated we become.'
'The devil is hardly bigger than Astron.' Phoebe waved at the demon struggling to grasp Nimbia securely around the waist. 'It is clear that, at most, he can carry only two.' She put a finger to the woodcutter's lips. 'We only lose time by churning again through what has already been decided. Nimbia and I are to take the harebell pollen to the one called Palodad. If any sort of problem develops, it certainly makes more sense to have available the skills of two wizards, rather than one. You are to stay until Astron appears, and then he will somehow figure out a way for you to follow.'
Kestrel scowled at the demon standing in the wash of light that flooded outward from the open doorway. The devil beat his leathery wings, pulling Nimbia a hand span away from the brief landing that ringed the hollow stone. Sprays of hair from the ears and nose formed long stiletto shadows that fell across a pockmarked face. The lower jaw merged into loose, hanging flesh that hung from the neck like a bulging sack.
Kestrel had found the devil cowering under the lowest shelf in what must be Astron's lair shortly after he recovered his senses from the transition. Only with difficulty was he able to interrupt a frightened babble of abject submission to explain the task that must be performed. The women's insistence had been surprising; now, in
