Part 58 (2/2)

Astron gasped as her head slipped through and he felt the widening bulge of her body. The pain intensified into an agonizing torrent. Only dimly was he aware of her pa.s.sage and that of Nimbia who followed. He tried to focus on how close the swirling fogs had closed on them; but in the blur of his vision, he could not tell.

Kestrel came last, and Astron could no longer remain silent. He howled as the searing pain seemed to rip him asunder. Flashes of reds and yellow washed over him. Wave after pulsing wave dug deeply into his torso, seeking out every atom of his existence and wrenching it about.

”I cannot get through,” Astron heard Kestrel call out. ”It is the rucksack. The opening is too small to let it pa.s.s.”

”Then take it off and try the grains one by one,” Astron

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heard himself answer. He ground his teeth and gasped to make his tongue do as it was commanded. He felt his last reserves of strength begin to wane. The nearest corner of his stembrain was dangerously close to breaking free.

”Kestrel,” he choked hoa.r.s.ely. ”If, by some chance, I am unable to follow, you must act with my kind just as you have done with the imps in your own realm. Convince whatever demon pa.s.ses by my lair to transport you to Palodad.” He sucked in his breath in a spasm. ”But do not let Phoebe wrestle with the old prince. Just get the pollen to him so that, in the end, Nimbia can be safe.”

”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 p.r.i.c.kly barbs of a pollen grain being pa.s.sed through the barrier to waiting hands on the other side and then Kestrel's all too ma.s.sive 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 vanis.h.i.+ng 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

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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

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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-”

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