Part 14 (2/2)
”Destroyed?” the Lady cried, appalled.
”I think not,” Stile said grimly. He tried a spell to locate Clip specifically, but it fizzled. ”This is Adept magic. I can not fathom the truth beyond this point, for it is Adept against Adept. But the message seems likely enough. Clip has been taken hostage.”
”Hostage!” she exclaimed. ”For what?”
”For my behavior. My secret enemy cannot match my power directly, so he has resorted to another device. I must bargain with him for Clip's life.”
”But what does that Adept want?”
”It seems I am to be involved in great events in the near future. Mine enemies know this, my friends know too. Everybody knows this except me. What mine enemy wants will surely be made known in good time.”
”But no one can influence thee by such means!”
”Oh, yes, he can!” Stile scowled, feeling an elemental savagery. ”He can evoke my vengeance against him for whatever he does to Clip. He can make me an enemy for life. Now he is attacking my wife and steed in lieu of me, seeking leverage. Not without consequence may Blue be thus used.”
She smiled sadly. ”The honeymoon is over.”
Soberly, he nodded. ”I must report to the Herd Stallion.”
”And I-I shall be left behind again.”
”Thou knowest I love thee. Lady. But there are things I must do.”
”I would not change thy nature if I could, my love.” Abruptly, savagely, they kissed, their horror of the situation converting to pa.s.sion. Then Stile spelled them to the unicorn herd.
They arrived at the edge of the pasture where the unicorns grazed. The great Herd Stallion looked up. He stood eighteen hands at the shoulder, or six feet, and was power fully muscled. His torso was pearly gray, darkening into black hooves; his mane and tail were silver, and his head golden. He was the most magnificent equine Stile knew. Perceiving Stile's mien, the Stallion converted immediately to man-form and approached. ”Speak without waste, Adept.”
”Clip has been taken hostage,” Stile said. Then he choked and could not continue.
”Do thou go see Neysa,” the Lady Blue told him gently. ”I will give the Stallion the detail.”
Gratefully, Stile walked through the herd, looking for his closest friend in Phaze. In a moment Neysa came to him. She was fit and sleek, showing as yet no sign of her gravid condition. She had only very recently been bred, and equines did not show the way humans did. She accepted his embrace, s.h.i.+fting momentarily to girl-form in his arms, in the mischievous way she had. Then she s.h.i.+fted back.
”Oh, Neysa,” he said, feeling the tears on his face. ”I fear I have placed your brother in dire straits.” She tensed, blowing a harmonica-note of alarm. She loved her brother.
”I was in Proton-frame,” he stumbled on. ”Ogres at tacked the Lady Blue. Clip fought valiantly, protecting her, and killed two ogres. But an Adept sent a sending of the mare called Belle, who won thine event in the Unolympics, and lured him into captivity, surely hostage against my power. And I-I can not accept what that enemy may demand of me, though Clip is-” The tears were flowing freely now, dropping from his chin. ”I should have been there!” And perhaps, if he had checked Clip's situation first, instead of last, he might have been in time to nullify the abduction. He had just a.s.sumed that Clip was near.
Neysa laid her warm horn against his cheek, suffering silently with him, forgiving him. She understood. They walked together back to the Herd Stallion. The n.o.ble creature was again in his natural form and had evidently a.s.similated the Lady's story. He was stomping the turf with one forehoof, making sparks fly up, and steam was issuing from his nostrils.
When Stile rejoined him, the Stallion changed again to man-form, a wisp of steam still showing in his breath. ”Thou art not at fault. Adept,” he said. ”Clip was there to help and protect thee, not thou him.”
”Protect me he did,” Stile said. ”I owe him my life. But he lost his freedom protecting not me but my Lady. I must restore him to freedom and avenge what he is suffering.”
”He is of my herd,” the Stallion said. ”Ultimately, vengeance is mine. But thou art welcome to free him if thou canst.”
”First must I locate him,” Stile said. ”And, if thou canst permit it, I would take another unicorn as temporary steed. The forces ranged against me, for whatever reason, are more than I can safely cope with alone, and no horse suffices. I need the kind of service only a unicorn can give.”
The Stallion hesitated. Neysa blew a faint note on her harmonica-hom, half pleading, half warning. She was subject to the Herd Stallion, but friend to the Blue Adept-and to many others. She was close blood kin to Clip. She wanted to be Stile's steed again, despite her condition. The Stallion could say nay or yea and would be obeyed-but his life would be simplified if he placated this spirited little mare. Stile had a certain sympathy for the Herd Stallion's predicament.
”I will provide thee with another unicorn,” the Stallion decided. ”Thou art held in unusual respect in this herd, Adept; a number of these would do for thee what they would not do for any ordinary man. Yet may I not compel any in this matter; give me time to seek a volunteer.” The Stallion seemed less urgent about this than Stile felt, and was obliquely refusing Neysa's offer. Yet it was a sensible course.
”It will take time to locate Clip and prepare a campaign to recover him without injury,” Stile said. ”Adept magic is involved, making the matter devious, not subject to simple spells. I do not relish his captivity for even another hour, but it would be foolish to strike unprepared. Will a day and a night suffice? I do have business in the other frame.”
”It will suffice,” the Stallion agreed. ”I shall query the animals of other kinds and send to the Oracle.” The Oracle! Of course! That would pinpoint Clip instantly-if the answer were not misunderstood. Except-what about the speculation the Translucent Adept had made about the Oracle? Maybe he should be careful of any advice received, without openly challenging its validity.
Stile turned to the Lady Blue. ”Now must I return thee to the Blue Demesnes for safekeeping.”
Again Neysa protested. The Herd Stallion, s.h.i.+rting to natural form, blew an accordion-chord of irritated acquiescence.
”I have been invited to visit with the Herd during thine absence,” the Lady said. ”I can be better guarded here, for no magic penetrates a herd on guard. By thy leave, my Lord-”
”I will make thee a pavilion,” Stile said, pleased. She would be much safer here, certainly.
”I need it not, my Lord.”
Stile nodded. The Lady Blue was no frail flower; she could survive well enough. ”Then shall I-” He paused, and the unicorns looked up from their grazing. A dragon was approaching-a huge flying creature, swooping up and down, evidently searching for something. It spied the herd and flew directly toward it. Immediately the unicorns formed a circle, horns pointing out. In the center were the foals and aged individuals -and Neysa, specially protected during her gestation. The Herd Stallion stood outside, flanked by several of the strongest of the lesser males, facing the monster alertly.
”I can deal with this,” Stile offered. He had a number of spells to bring down dragons.
But the dragon was not attacking. It was a steed, with an old woman holding the reins, perched between the great beating wings. She carried a white kerchief that she waved in her left hand.
”Flag of truce,” Stile said. Then, with a double take: ”That's the Yellow Adept!”
The Herd Stallion snorted angrily. He would honor the truce, but he had no love for the Yellow Adept, whose business it was to trap and sell animals, including unicorns. The dragon landed with a b.u.mp that made its pa.s.senger bounce, then folded its wings. The old woman scrambled down.
”I bear a message for Blue. It must be quick, for my potion can not hold this monster long.” Stile stepped forward, still surprised. Usually this witch only went out in public after talking a youth potion for cosmetic effect. What message could cause her to scramble like this?
”I am here. Yellow.”
”It is in the form of a package, my handsome,” she said, handing him a long box that appeared from her shawl. Stile suddenly became conscious of his own apparel: the outfit of a Proton Citizen. In the rush of events he had not bothered to conjure Phaze clothing. But it hardly mattered; an Adept, like a Citizen, could wear what he pleased. ”I want thee to know I had no hand in this particular mischief. The item was delivered by conjuration with the message: Blue b.u.t.t out. I hastened to bring it to thee, fearing further malice against thee an I delayed. My potions indicate that more than one Adept partic.i.p.ates in this.”
She hurried back to her dragon-steed before Stile could open the package. ”Wait, Yellow-I may wish to question thee about this!” Stile called. Something about the package gave him an extremely ugly premonition.
”I dare not stay,” she called back. ”I would help thee if I could. Blue, for thou art a bonny lad. But I can not.” She spurred her dragon forward. The creature spread its wings and taxied along on six little legs, finally getting up to takeoff velocity. Once it was airborne, it was much more graceful. Soon it was flying high and away. Stile unwrapped the package with a certain misgiving. It surely did not contain anything he would be glad to see. Probably it was from Clip's captor; some evidence that the unicorn was indeed hostage, such as a hank of his blue mane.
As the package unwrapped, two red socks fell out. Clip's socks, which could be magically removed and used separately, in the same manner as Neysa's white socks. But there was something else in the package. Stile un wrapped it-and froze, appalled. All the others stared, not at first believing it.
It was a severed unicorn horn.
Stile's hands began to shake. He heard the Lady Blue's quick intake of breath. Neysa blew a note of purest agony.
Slowly Stile lifted the horn to his mouth. He blew into the hollow base. The sound of an ill-played saxophone emerged. It was definitely Clip's horn.
Neysa fell to the ground as if stricken by lightning. The Lady Blue dropped down beside her, putting her arms about the unicorn's neck in a futile attempt to console her. Stile stood stiffly, his mind half numbed by the horror of it. To a unicorn, the horn was everything, the mark that distinguished him from the mere horse.
More than that, he realized, the horn was the seat of the unicorn's magic. Without it. Clip could not change form or resist hostile spells. He would be like a man blinded and castrated-alive without joy. There could be no worse punishment.
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