Feynard (49 page)

Kevin fell to his knees, choking in horror.

Amadorn and the Witch blasted the Kraleon with fires of their own, and the combination of their powers
gave it pause. They had learned from the previous encounter. The dark creature dropped into the trees, and vanished.

But the demon vultures were still te
aring strips off Zephyr’s hide. The Unicorn’s reserves were spent. Amidst a last gasp of flame, he tumbled helplessly into the treetops, and the weird, rolling conflagration steamrollered over the place where he had fallen. And suddenly, there was silence.

Every eye aboard scanned the shore anxiously.

Akê-Akê and Snatcher emerged from the trees and limped down the beach. The Lurk carried Hunter in his arms. They were both hollow-eyed, and at the sight of their grim, defeated mien the Witch struck the guardrail in dismay. Amadorn cursed softly and shook his shaggy head. Kevin swallowed hard.

Not a word was said as they made their way aboard.

“There was little left of the brave Eagle,” Snatcher rumbled, voicing the Lurkish keen of grief. “The dark summoning did rend him wing from wing. Hunter was struck by a falling tree and lies unconscious.” He laid her gently down, and then opened his huge palm for all to see. “This we found where the noble one-horn did fall.”

Each Unicorn’s horn is unique in colouration and patterning. Zephyr’s was a foot long, double-spiralled, pearlescent in the sunlight as though it were a many-coloured jewel, beautiful and serene, but at that moment, it represented his demise.

Alliathiune uttered a wordless cry and collapsed upon the deck, weeping sobs torn from her body as if by cruel hooks.

Kevin
whispered, “He’s
dead?
It cannot be!”

“He invoked the magic,” Amadorn said softly. “When a Unicorn is
in critical danger, he is able to resort to this last and greatest magic. Within the horn the Tomalia remains inviolate.”

“What d
o you mean? He lives?”

Amadorn bowed as low as he was able. “An explanation, even at this saddest of times. Good outlander, this horn magic is a matter of conjecture and speculation, even amongst the most learned minds of Thaharria-brin-Tomal.
Their earliest legends suggest that the Tomalia were not native to Driadorn, but came down from the stars in times before histories were recorded. Elliadora herself gladly welcomed these noble creatures, and granted them home and hearth amidst the peaceful vales of the Seventy-Seven Hills. And so the noble Tomalia have dwelled here since the beginning of Driadorn–some say they are older even than the Dryads, who assisted Elliadora in the planting and nurturing of the great Mother Forest.”

“Indeed, the Unicorns came to find peace because they were chased and hounded from whence they came, due to a great evil that had risen a
gainst them in times past. The one-horns believe that much was lost during that flight. This realisation partly underpins their insatiable hunger for knowledge. You see, they believe that those who have
aharr brrtha altha
, or, ‘taken to the horn’ in their parlance, merely sleep. How did they cross the vast, starry spaces, if not by this means?”

It was an intriguing conjecture, thought the Human, and a typical mythology to explain a race’s origins as godly or otherworldly–which was
not unknown amidst the primitive peoples and cultures of Earth too, he remembered reading. But the Druid was not yet finished, and an even bigger surprise was in store for him.

“There is in Thaharria-brin-Tomal a great hall called the Ardüinthäl. You have been there, yes?”
Kevin nodded, recalling his audience with Mylliandawn. “Indeed, the original purpose of the great hall was not for the meeting of Unicorn leaders, but as a fitting monument to those who had taken to the horn during the great journey–and never restored because the knowledge was lost. Why think you there are so few Tomalia? There are literally
thousands
of horns, my friend, stored in the chambers alongside the Ardüinthäl against the lighttime of their redemption.”

“My word!
It’s unbelievable.”

“Believe it, good outlander. Perhaps Zephyr merely sleeps in the hope that someone, somehow, will find the way to free his people.” Amadorn reached out and took the horn from Snatcher’s paw. “He would want us to keep his memory alive. He would want us to heal the Forest, our great Mother. Noble
Kevin, I believe he would’ve wanted you to have this.”

He pressed Zephyr’s remains into
Kevin’s hand.

Kevin
turned the horn over in his fingers. It was as exquisite as Zephyr himself. He would keep it safe. Quietly, he swore that he would find a way, had he to move the pillars of heaven itself, to bring Zephyr back again.

And then
he broke down and wept.

S
ix lighttimes later, blessed
by winds kept favourable by Amadorn and the Witch, the company reached the port of Uthar, the capital city of Utharia. Here they rated a surprise welcoming committee of a cavalry regiment supported by sixty heavily-armed foot soldiers.

“Nice welcome,” Akê-Akê muttered aside to Amadorn, who
limped glumly along under the watchful spear-points of a coterie of soldiers. “Where do you think we’re going?”

“Quiet there!”

Snatcher glared at the soldier, who snapped his mouth shut and dropped back into the encircling ring. One does not argue lightly with a ten-foot Lurk.

“Where do you think? Out
of the city.”

Kevin
eyed the dark little men in escort. Far from being welcomed, the travellers were quickly hustled through the back streets and out of the city gate. Someone must have warned them. It smacked of the Dark Apprentice’s handiwork, or even of that Kraleon creature. He had no desire to see them again. And he was concerned that they would not simply be kicked out of the city, as Akê-Akê had suggested. No one went to this kind of bother only to let them go on the other end. It had the feeling of a march to an execution.

Numbers were an issue, but so was the total surprise with which they had been taken. Amadorn and the Witc
h had both been caught napping. Snatcher only subsided because of the threat to his soft-skinned companions, who would be spit like a pig roast by those long cavalry lances. Alliathiune had quietly gestured to them to keep the peace–for now, her stormy expression intimated. Amadorn fingered his cloak, running through his inventory of offensive spells like a shopkeeper ticking off a delivery. The Witch seethed, her thin lips pinched together like white bars, and her hands curled white-knuckled at her sides.

Kevin wondered what an irate Witch might do to these men. It did not bear thinking about.

Had Zephyr been alive, he decided, they would not have been caught with their trousers down. Arrogant he was, but Zephyr’s leadership ability had never been in question. He touched the horn affixed to his belt. God, the memory of the Unicorn still brought tears to his eyes. Two evenings back, Amadorn had played for them the first three stanzas of a song he was composing to celebrate and honour Zephyr’s life. Alliathiune had taken on his mantle by a unanimous vote, and unobtrusively moved amongst the companions during this march to encourage them and to set the signal for a counterattack. She would do well, he felt. A pity to be caught out so soon.

His pulse quickened as they neared and passed through the city gate. People stared curiously at the party and especially at the Lurk, making a strange sign with their right hand as he passed by–two fingers held in a scissors position over their heart.
Kevin wondered what it meant, and by Snatcher’s mystified expression, knew he was not the only one.

According to the Witch, who had twice visited Utharia, Broadleaf Valley lay
a moon’s travel slightly north of westward in the Ur-Akbarra range of mountains. As they exited the city gate, Kevin found himself upon a slight elevation above the immediate farmland. The air was crystal-clear, giving excellent visibility all the way to the low purple peaks on the horizon. Birds chirped cheerfully nearby, and long-horned cattle grazed on that great plain. Those close by had fantastic woollen coats that dragged on the ground beneath them, making them resemble ambulatory bundles of hay. He wished the fields, lying fallow until they would be tilled at the start of Budding season, were less verdant, for he had no desire to die on such a perfect lighttime!

The escort prodded them down the incline at a healthy clip, soon leaving the city behind and entering a small wood. Here they left the main road for a smaller path, which led by some twists and turns away from civilisation.
Giant broadleaf, fairleaf, and twisted longbeard trees closed thickly overhead, but in late Darkenseason did not have any leaves. Alliathiune was pleased by this development, for she could in an instant make her escape, or bend these living organisms to her will. The landscape changed by degrees into a defile between two ridges, which deepened as they pressed on along a burbling stream on a trail wide enough for four men line abreast. It had recently seen use–even Kevin could see that, and a chill played down his spine. A hot reception awaited …

At last they came to a sizeable clearing backing onto a rocky knoll, which had at its head a waterfall perhaps twenty feet high. To
Kevin’s eye the trail they had just taken was the only way back out. The clearing crawled with quite the most raffish assortment of Utharian bandits imaginable, rogues to a man, who eyed up the travellers with the air of those expecting an afternoon of good sport. Judging by certain comments, they were especially pleased to see three females included in the bargain. Hunter touched her arsenal as if trying to decide exactly how she would dice them all up, and woe betide the man who laid hands on the Witch or the Dryad!

Without ceremony
their escort marched to the far end of the clearing, where two dozen archers guarded a wooden stockade from the nearby slopes. Sport? Not a chance, Kevin realised. The first person to bolt would sprout a quills like a porcupine. And magical shields were a Unicorn speciality. Why, o why, had he not picked the Unicorn’s brains more?

As the soldiers departed,
their leader tossed a jingling purse to the ruffians. “Kill them.”

“Nice odds,” said Akê-Akê, stretching his back. “I fancy a bit of exercise before dinner.”

The bandit leader looked them over with a slow smile. “If that hunchback so much as crooks a finger, kill him. I’d know a Druid anywhere. Into the stockade with them, lads, and be quick about it. Bring the tall woman to my tent.”

“
Wouldn’t you prefer to share your bed with me?” sneered the Faun. An arrow pierced the turf between his legs, passing perilously close to a part of his anatomy he was rather proud of. “Well, in that case …”

They crowded into the stockade. The Witch
murmured steadily without moving her lips, building what Kevin fervently hoped was a defensive spell against arrows. The archers could hardly miss from this range.

There was a streak like a meteor across the sky.

“Which one first?” roared the bandit leader. “What about the Cat? Who wants to be first to tame the Cat? Come on out, little pussycat! Come please my men!”

Hunter palmed her daggers. “I’ll teach him to call me names!”

She stalked out of the stockade, ignoring the man who swatted her backside as he closed the gate behind her. “Come on!” she hissed.

That was exactly when one of the archers gave a strangled cry and pitched down off the rocks, bouncing into the stream and floating away. He had no head.

Everyone whirled to scan the rocks. The archers fell over each other in a panic to get away from the spot where their comrade had perished–but nothing moved. There was not a sound. He might as well have cut his own throat.

“What’s going on?” barked the bandit leader. “Who saw what happened?”

There was a twinkle of blue light. The stockade turned to dust and fell into small heaps around the companions’ feet–and no one was more surprised than they. Amadorn looked at the Witch, who glanced at Alliathiune, who raised her eyebrows at Kevin. It was nothing of their doing. What, by the Well …?

A second archer pitched from the rocks. His torso stuck halfway up but this head bounced and rolled into the clearing, splattering blood right up to the bandit leader’s bootlaces. Darkness moved
on the slope. Steel hissed up, out, a long blade amputating an archer’s ankle, rising on the swivel to sever three fingers holding a bow, pressing two men against each other and thrusting to the throat.

Hunter unfroze; her arm shot out, sending her
throwing dagger spinning into the bandit leader’s eye. “For the Mancat!” she howled, and launched herself at the nearest man.

“The Fauns!” cried Akê-Akê, whirling his mace.

Snatcher blasted past him, twirling that tree-stump of a club about his head. “To the path!” he bellowed. “Clear the way!”

Alliathiune struck
Kevin between the shoulder blades. “Get moving!”

Kevin saw a
black-robed figure, the Kraleon, rippling down from the rocks like a dark river, sweeping archers before it like chaff before a hurricane. A blade flashed in its hooked claws, slicing men open even as he watched. He could not believe her eyes. Amadorn too had time for a backward glance, before touching his cloak to clear a knot of ragamuffins who had rushed into their path.

“It’s that Kraleon thing!” panted the Druid, loosing another bolt of lightning from his fingertips.

“I know!” The Dryad shoved Kevin again. “Stop gaping and run!”

“What’s it doing?”

“Hills only know!”

And then the melee closed around them. Men were everywhere, dark Utharian men, brandishing their weapons and screaming battle cries–they were courageous and loathe to yield ground, even in the face of magic. They had their honour to protect and reputations to be made or broken. So they gritted their teeth and fell upon the group like wolves to the quarry.

The company drew close, Snatcher to the fore, hacking through a tangle of bodies and armour as they sought to win free. Arrows hissed in their midst. A blade sliced Akê-Akê’s cheek open; a cut burned on Kevin’s shoulder. The Witch’s thigh was laid open by an unseen blade, Hunter’s tail shortened by several inches and her ear sliced apart to her skull.

“Kevin!” someone shouted. “Kevin Jenkins!”

The black creature came on, cutting and bulling its way through the bandits in pursuit, and its blade was a flaming white-blue terror of vengeance. None were able to stand before it. Yet the sheer press of bodies slowed its progress. The companions won free because they had started earlier, and they were not about to withhold for the dark creature’s sake. Akê-Akê led the retreat at a dead run, closely followed by Kevin and Alliathiune. The Lurk snatched up Amadorn, to his very vocal annoyance, leaving Hunter and the Witch to guard the rear. In no time at all the forest closed about them.

Like ignominious rabbits, they fled the battle. It was, as Zephyr would have said, the wisest course of action.

*  *  *  *

“I don’t understand it at all. It just doesn’t make sense!”

“Good outlander, that is the eighth time you have said those words in the last turn alone. Frankly, it’s no use.”

Kevin
ran his hands through his red curls in frustration. “Fine, Akê-Akê. I am a demon creature sent by the Dark Apprentice to make your life miserable. I attack you just short of Black-Rock Keep but you overpower me and manage to escape. I attack you again on the Endless Ocean and send you many leagues off course. I arrange an ambush for you on some island miles from anywhere–and we still haven’t gotten to the bottom of what Zephyr was doing out there in the first place–and slay two of your companions. So you manage to make it to Utharia at last, but I’ve been there first and arranged a little welcoming party for you. It’s all proceeding swimmingly when I change my mind and decide to break up the party, killing my fellow conspirators and setting my hated enemies free. How am I doing so far?”

“Splendidly!” said Amadorn. “
Have some fowl. It’s delicious.”

“But I need to–”

“You need to eat.”

“But–”

“Eating aids the thought processes. Come. Good lad. Now, tell me what you think you saw.”

Kevin
said sulkily, “Digestion increases circulation around the stomach and intestines, drawing blood away from the brain.”

“What utter rot!” Amadorn declared cheerfully. “The body
loses function without the appropriate nutrients. Now, as you have suggested, there were aspects of the squabble that struck me as anomalous, not the least for the reasons you so scornfully put to the good Faun.”

“Which are?”

“I noted the creature wielded a blade of blazing magical fire. Were such a thing possible, by the Hills, I would share the secret with our military friends at once.” He ticked off another finger. “The creature was not hooded and cloaked as before, but clad in an ordinary shirt and trousers such as you or I might wear. Thirdly, the creature’s skin was black, such as I have never seen before save on demonic creatures.”

Kevin
nodded thoughtfully. “Black skin is possible in Humans, good Druid, amongst the peoples of Africa.”

“Darker than these Utharian men?”

“Much darker, apparently. I’ve never met such a person myself.”

“Well, that puts a different perspective on the matter.” Amadorn sucked his pipe meditatively and puffed smoke into the humid evening air. “Rain before the morrow, or I failed my apprenticeship.”

“Great, I hate rain.”

“Rain nurtures the Forest and brings life to her roots.”

He said unkindly, “Alliathiune, is this any time for a theology lesson?”

Akê-Akê
, ever one to help, interrupted, “What a narrow-minded and grumpy sentiment, good outlander.”

“I am not narrow-minded!”

“But you persist in seeing things by your mysterious science. That blinkers your thinking.”