Astron felt his eyes stiffly glance down at the pollen grain at Palodad's feet, a small shred of puzzlement tugging at the muscles in his face.
'You wonder why I have not already set it ablaze, do you not?' Palodad said. 'Think, cataloguer! Besides the fuel and the kindling, what is the third ingredient for a flame?' Palodad's rheumy eyes widened. He pressed the metal ball in his hand against Astron's chest.
'It is the spark, the spark that ignites the kindling and sets the events on their way, a special spark that only a most unique demon can provide. That is the final ingredient, cataloguer. That is why I had to bind you to the quest, to manipulate things so carefully that in the end you would be here.'
Astron tried to shake his head in protest, but Palodad ignored him and rambled on. 'Yes, the spark cannot come from any demon; my calculations have shown me that just any shape and intensity of the energy will not do. It must originate from one for whose entire existence the stembrain has remained under control, a clutch brother of mighty djinns, but one who has repressed even the slightest hint of undisciplined thought.'
Palodad pressed his face against Astron's own. 'Now, cataloguer, to make the final calculation complete. Surrender, surrender at last to what has churned within you for so long.'
Again Astron attempted to shake his head. He was merely a cataloguer, a stunted djinn without wings, one who could not weave. How could he provide the essence of what the mad demon sought? It could not be true, and yet- As the feelings churned within him, Astron could not deny what the prince had said.
Palodad was correct, the certainty swelled. He had been correct from the first. All the events had been calculated and there was no other outcome possible. The mad one's great machine, his incredible store of matter, and the pollen that would surely ignite-there was no logical way to resist. Not only would everything that existed vanish totally, but he, Astron, the one who walked, was to be the instrument for that destruction.
Astron tried to cry out, but he felt his final control slipping away. A ripping pain coursed through him, as if his very being were being torn apart. Thoughts exploded in all directions and bounced about his head. Through eyes wet with tears, he saw Nimbia's face contort with concern. He felt a strange tingling and then sharp nips of pain. His stembrain danced as it had never done before. Crackles of energy popped from his ears and raced down his arms. Purple and brilliant red streamers surged to his back and then onto his thighs. Helplessly, he saw Palodad kick the pollen grain between his feet, and the angry pulses of energy spurted and jumped to meet it.
Astron felt himself slipping away into a maelstrom of confusion. The lust for destruction within him grew. With the last shred of consciousness, he struggled to pull back the crackling power that radiated from him and keep it away from the prickly sphere waiting for its touch. But he could not hold back the flood. Past his knees, the sheets of plasma danced down onto his shins. White-hot sparks exploded out into the air. In a brilliant flash, globs of pulsing energy rained onto the floor.
'I have let you agonize long enough in anticipation.' Gaspar stepped forward into the darkness of the node. 'Now you shall experience a hint of what truly is to come.' He extended his arm and pointed at Kestrel's chest. A tiny arc of energy shot from the demon's fingertip and struck the woodcutter just below the throat.
Kestrel staggered to one knee as the stab of pain exploded across his torso and ran down his arms. He gasped, then gritted his teeth, determined not to cry out. For the longest while, Gaspar had stood silently taunting him while the battles behind the two of them still raged. Now only a few cries and bursts of light illuminated the darkness of the demon realm. Elezar's last defenders swarmed about their prince, but not even the most hopeful could now dispute the final result.
'What, no pleas for mercy?' Gaspar said. 'No appeal to some better part of my nature to make the ending swift?' The djinn stepped forward and grabbed Kestrel beneath the arms and lifted him effortlessly to eye level. 'You will grovel before I am done, mortal, grovel like all the rest when they feel the wrath of the prince whose power is the greatest.'
Gaspar's hands started to glow with pulses of energy. Kestrel felt the fabric of his tunic shrivel and part. Waves of heat radiated into his chest. His skin began to blister and flake away. He shook his head from side to side, trying to find the words that would turn Gaspar's attention away-some clever stratagem that would misdirect even a prince of demons from his fiendish pleasure. He looked into Gaspar's eyes and saw only the twisted desire that would not be denied. In despair, he realized that there was nothing that he could say that would save him now.
Gaspar saw the expression on Kestrel's face and threw back his head with a booming laugh. Short stabs of plasma arched from the demon's shoulders and elbows and smashed into Kestrel's arms, adding rips of pain to the boiling heat that already was almost too much to withstand.
As the agony intensified, visions began to swim in Kestrel's mind. He thought of Phoebe and what would be her fate after he had gone, of Abel and the warriors behind him still faithfully confining the lieutenants as he had commanded them, and of Astron, a demon most unlike all the rest, of-
Kestrel reached out and grabbed at the thought as it flitted by. He closed his eyes and concentrated on where it was leading him. Astron would not challenge Gaspar with wily words. He would use whatever solid facts he could and from them determine what must be done.
Kestrel shifted his focus as quickly as he could through the numbing haze of pain. Gaspar-what was all that had been said about the prince in the times that Astron had spoken of him during the quest? He was a most powerful djinn with his weavings of matter, indeed perhaps the most powerful of all. But in Elezar's rotunda he had been chided for his lack of wit and unwillingness to challenge any wizard who sought-
Gaspar was a powerful weaver, it was true. Kestrel churned the thought in his mind. But what was Gaspar's strength of will? How well could he fare against the ar-chimage, or Phoebe, or even-?
'Surrender,' Kestrel yelled at the top of his lungs as he seized at the last chance. 'Surrender to him who will be your master. It is dominance or submission. There can be no in between.'
'You are no wizard-'
'Nor need I be. It is only a matter of will,' Kestrel gasped. The pain in his sides became excruciating. He thought he could smell the burning of his own flesh. But he lashed out with his mind, seeking the essence of the demon that held him, ready to twist and turn with his last dying gasp. There was nothing else to try.
Kestrel's sight dimmed into hot glowing yellows. Blindly, his thoughts exploded, not knowing exactly what it was that he sought. He felt his awareness expand in all directions, pushing everything before it. All of his essence of being, his pleasures, his hopes, his fears, and everything of consequence boiled and churned, blasting all else aside.
Then Kestrel felt a resistance, something that slowed the outswell of thought that swirled midst the pain. Impulsively, he crashed against the barrier, at first skittering against the surface, but then striking it again and again. Visualizing mental arms and legs, he tore at the covering, trying to rip it asunder so that he could plunge inside.
The images whirled in his mind, but somehow even in the delirium of his pain, he stalked like a hunter, testing the seams of Gaspar's essence one by one. He jabbed a finger into a dark crevasse; when he felt something softer than the rest, he thrust in his hand. Whatever was inside attempted to wither away, but Kestrel was quicker and grabbed and twisted as savagely as he could.
'Your minions might have victory,' Kestrel shouted, 'but you will not share in it, Gaspar. I have come too far and changed too much to let it be so. I cannot weave, but it does not matter. My will is the greater because I fight for what I believe, not for some idle amusement to forestall an eventual dawn.'
Kestrel felt his fist rip and tear. A shudder coursed throughout all his body. He reached with his other hand and pulled at Gaspar's being, spreading it open so that it was exposed. He felt a sudden wave of pleading protest, and then a smell of self-loathing that shook him to the core. Fear and submission flooded over him, drenching him in doubt and ultimate despair.
'Desist, master, desist,' Kestrel heard Gaspar say. 'Stop your smiting. I am yours to command.'
Kestrel paused. He opened his eyes and blinked. He was lying astride Gaspar's chest as the demon sprawled on the inky blackness of the node. Kestrel looked at his bloody hands where he had been ripping at the djinn's face; the flesh of one jowl was hanging limp and oozing green ichor.
Tears sprang into Kestrel's eyes. Mingling with the lingering pain, he felt a deep catharsis wash over him. After all these years, the burden was finally lifted. His first deceptions and every one that followed he could finally put aside.
He started to speak, but the node beneath him suddenly rumbled. There was a flash of light that lit the sky
