Part 22 (1/2)

Astron saw more ranks come over the crestline of the hill. He spotted the dull sheen of copper and felt the stir of his stembrain. Two more lines of pipers marched in precise step behind the dancers, their faces all grim and unsmiling, and with unsheathed blades attached to their belts. While those before them descended to the stream that transected the glade, the sentrymen fanned out to circle the shallow bowl. In a matter of a few moments, they were standing at attention, a sentry next to each of the toadstools that ringed the glade. One was barely a stone's throw from where Astron and the others hid.

The trilling of the pipes intensified. Astron saw a litter come over the crest of the hill. Surrounded by fluttering attendants, what could only be the equivalent of a prince's carriage jostled down the slope. The one inside was dressed in a tunic like the rest, but fancy embroideries of brilliant reds decorated a green deeper than that worn by the others. A garland of tiny blossoms crowned the brow where the yellow curls had faded to the color of pale straw.

Behind the first ruler came a second and a third, and then a disarray of others, some in clumps of twenty and others in twos and threes. The chatter of many voices began to be heard among the melody of the pipes. Occasionally what Astron thought might be tinkling laughter sounded with the rest. Finally, the litters came to a halt directly in front of the door into the rock. All the music faded away. The richly dressed occupant of the first rose to his feet and spread his arms to the sky. His face showed the first signs of age, and there was a cruel hardness in his eye. His melodic voice, barely deeper than that of a human woman, filled the air.

”What is happening?” Kestrel whispered. ”Can you understand the tongue?”

”Yes,” Astron said. ”On my previous visit I learned it well from one kinder than the rest.” He concentrated for a moment on the words coming from the stream side and began translating them for his companions.

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”Come forward, high king Finvarwin, venerated judge. It is the season,” Astron repeated. ”Come forward, Finvarwin, and decide which creations have sufficient beauty, which will be granted the privilege of continued life. Tell us all who will receive the rewards for their efforts and who must render service as penalty for failure. I, hillsovereign Prydwin, speaking for all the others, request your presence.”

The wooden door suddenly swung outward. A frail and stooped figure shuffled out into the light. The top of his head was totally bald, with a few long stringiets of bleached gold hanging to his shoulders. His face looked caved in, as if struck by a mighty blow. Squinting eyes sat atop a flattened nose. The chin jutted out from under a mouth long since vacant of teeth. Rather than a tunic of green, the newcomer wore a long robe of white, cinched at the waist with a rope made of vines.

”I am ready,” Astron heard Finvarwin say. ”I will judge as I have so many times in the past.”

Finvarwin waved his hand out over the a.s.semblage and then s.h.i.+elded his eyes. ”Which one is Nimbia?” he asked. ”Which one attempts to create without the aid of a mate?”

One of the fey standing somewhat apart from the rest came forward and dipped her head. ”It is my creation that you have asked to inspect, venerated one. May your judgment be keen and fair.”

”Look at that one!” Kestrel suddenly gasped in a voice almost loud enough for the nearest sentryman to hear. ”I do not know how these creatures judge, but if she were in Procolon, men would fight for just one of her smiles.”

Astron looked more closely at the one called Nimbia. She was a bit shorter than the rest, about his own height, and wore a plain tunic, with no added embroidery. Her face was slender, with soft angles, high cheeks, and a tiny upturned nose. Large eyes danced beneath a halo of gold. The way she moved was in some indescribable way different from the rest, a dancelike flow of smoothness, to be sure, but yet each step brought attention to the

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bounce of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. In the realm of men, she indeed would be judged a great beauty, Astron thought, and from what little he did know of the fey, in their underbills as well. He puzzled for a second time about the l.u.s.t that went beyond the duty to couple and wondered if it affected those before him in the same way as it did Kestrel

and his kin.

”You will be the last,” Astron heard Finvarwin say to Nimbia. ”I will judge first those more likely to prove worthy. Vastowen, prepare the ring for the use of all.”

The occupant of the second litter, more heavy-set than the rest, bowed and then addressed the a.s.semblage. *'A dozen djinns,” he said. ”At least a dozen for I am confident that what I have started has begun to grow of its own volition.”

The pipes again started their trilling. Everyone present focused their attention to the three fires burning on the streambank. Vastowen motioned to one of the females standing nearby. Shyly, she came forward and clasped his extended hand. Together they waded across the stream to the side on which Astron and the others hid.

Vastowen grabbed a handful of powder from a pouch at his waist. With a fluid motion he distributed the dust into the three fires. The flames roared skyward, each suddenly a brilliant purple of glistening heat.

”Come forward, djinns of the circle, I command you,” Vastowen said. ”Come forward and make the bridge so that we can see into elsewhere.”

”He is a wizard!” Phoebe said. ”A wizard, but evidently a foolish one at that. One djinn is sufficient a contest of wills for anyone; against a dozen no one can withstand.”

”They are all wizards,” Astron said. He felt his stem-brain stir at the thought. ”The high king, the hillsover-eigns, the litter bearers, even the sentrymen formed into the ring. It is what makes a journey here so risky for one of my kirtd. The struggle of dominance or submission could occur with each and every one that I meet.”

Astron waved at the figures before him, now all con-

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centrating on the three fires at Vastowen's feet. ”And if a single one of them has insufficient strength, he can enlist the aid of another. In twos and threes or even scores, they can meld their wills as one. A solitary devil or even a prince is no match for the scores you see before you here. They can summon and control a dozen djinns with ease. It is no wonder that none of the princes who rule cast covetous thoughts toward a realm such as this.”