The Black Unicorn (23 page)

The scribe trailed off self-consciously, glowering at the flames of the little fire. “Well, no matter. The point is, he is not himself these days, Questor Thews. He is not himself.”

The wizard’s owlish face twisted thoughtfully. “No.” He glanced momentarily at Bunion and was surprised to find the kobold nodding in agreement. “No, he most certainly is not.”

“Hasn’t been since …”

“Since we discovered that impostor in his bed chamber?”

“Since then, yes. Since that night.”

They were silent again for a moment. Then their eyes met, and they were startled by what they found mirrored
there. “Is it possible that …” Abernathy began uncertainly.

“That the impostor
was
the High Lord?” Questor finished. He frowned his deepest frown. “I would not have thought so before, but now …”

“There is no way we can be certain, of course,” Abernathy interrupted quickly.

“No, no way,” Questor agreed.

The fire crackled and spit, the smoke blew across them with a shift in the wind, and sparks danced into the ashes. From somewhere far away, a night bird sounded a long, mournful cry that brought shivers down Questor’s spine. He exchanged quick glances with Abernathy and Bunion.

“I hate sleeping out-of-doors,” Abernathy muttered. “I don’t like fleas and ticks and crawly things trying to assume occupancy of my fur.”

“I have a plan,” Questor said suddenly.

Abernathy gave him a long, hard look, the kind he always gave when confronted with a pronouncement he would just as soon live without. “I am almost afraid to ask what it is, wizard,” he responded finally.

“We will go to the dragon. We will go to Strabo.”

Bunion’s teeth gleamed in a frightening grin. “That is a plan?” demanded Abernathy, horrified.

Questor leaned forward eagerly. “But it makes perfect sense that we should go to Strabo. Who knows more about unicorns than dragons? Once they were the greatest of enemies—the oldest adversaries in the world of fairy. Now the black unicorn is the last of his kind, and Strabo the last of his. They share a common cause, a natural affinity! Surely we can learn something of the unicorn from the dragon—enough perhaps to unravel its mystery and to discover its purpose in coming to Landover!”

Abernathy stared in disbelief. “But the dragon doesn’t like us, Questor Thews! Have you forgotten that? He will roast us for a midday snack!” He paused. “Besides, what
good will it do to learn anything more about the unicorn? The beast has caused us trouble enough as it is.”

“But if we understand its purpose, we might discover a reason for the High Lord’s obsession,” Questor replied quickly. “We might even find a way to reinstate ourselves at court. It is not inconceivable. And the dragon will not cause us harm. He will be happy to visit with us once he has learned our purpose in coming. Do not forget, Abernathy, that dragons and wizards share a common background as well. The nature and duration of our professional relationship has always dictated a certain degree of mutual respect.”

Abernathy’s lip curled. “What a lot of nonsense!”

Questor barely seemed to hear him. There was a faraway look in his eye. “There were games played between wizards and dragons in the old days that would challenge the faint of heart, I can tell you. Games of magic and games of skill.” He cocked his head slightly. “A game or two might be necessary here if Strabo chooses to be obdurate. Theft of knowledge is a skill I have mastered well, and it would be fun to test myself once more …”

“You are mad!” Abernathy was appalled.

But Questor’s enthusiasm was not to be dampened. He came to his feet, excitement in his eyes as he paced the circle of the fire. “Well, no matter. What is necessary must be done. I have made my decision. I shall go to the dragon.” He paused. “Bunion will go with me, won’t you, Bunion?” The kobold nodded, grinning ear to ear. The wizard’s hands fluttered. “There, it is settled. I am going. Bunion is going. And you must come with us, Abernathy.” He stopped, hands lowering, tall form stooping slightly as if from the weight of his sudden frown. “We must go, you know. After all, what else is there for us to do?”

He stared questioningly at the scribe. Abernathy stared back, sharing the look. There was a long silence while doubt and uncertainty waged a silent war with self-esteem
in the old friends’ eyes. There were shadows of times they had believed past come back to haunt their present, and they felt those shadows closing inexorably about. They could not permit that. Anything was better than waiting for such suffocating darkness.

The ridgeline was still again, a dark spine against a sky of stars and moons that seemed cold and distant. The line shack and the stock pen were the bones of an aging earth.

“Very well,” Abernathy agreed, sighing his most grievous sigh. “We will all be fools together.”

No one spoke up to dispute him.

Sunrise found Fillip and Sot present and accounted for as promised. They were standing a good twenty yards away when Ben came awake, a pair of motionless, squat shadows in the fading dark, their travel packs strapped to their backs, their caps with solitary red feathers set firmly in place. They appeared bushes at first glance; but after Ben rose to stretch muscles cramped from the chill and the hard earth, they came forward a few tentative steps and gave anxious greetings. They seemed more nervous than usual and kept peering past him as if they expected an onslaught of Crag Trolls at any moment.

It took Ben a moment to realize that they were not on guard against Trolls, but against Edgewood Dirk.

Dirk, for his part, ignored them. He was sitting on the tree stump washing when Ben thought to look for him, his silky coat smooth and glistening as if damp from morning dew. He did not glance up or respond to Ben’s good morning. He went on about the business of cleaning himself until he was satisfied that the job was properly completed, then settled down to the contents of a bowl of spring water that Ben had provided. Ben hadn’t thought about it before, but Dirk never seemed to eat much. What he survived on was something of a mystery, but it was a
mystery that Ben chose to leave unsolved. He had enough puzzles to deal with without adding another.

They departed shortly after waking, Ben and Dirk leading—depending on how you defined the word “leading,” for once again Dirk seemed to know where Ben was going almost before he did. The gnomes trailed. Fillip and Sot clearly wanted no part of Edgewood Dirk. They stayed well back of the cat and watched him the way you would a snake. Fillip was limping noticeably and Sot appeared to have burned a good portion of the fur off his wrists and the backs of his hands. Neither had anything to say about their injuries, and Ben let them be.

They traveled through the morning at a steady pace, the sun shining brightly from out of a cloudless sky, the smell of wild flowers and fruit trees scenting the air. Signs of the wilt prevailed. They remained small but noticeable, and Ben thought again of Meeks in his guise, of the demons come back out of Abaddon at his bidding, of the lessening of magic in the land, and the stealing of its life. There was a renewed urgency tugging him along, a sense that time was slipping from him too quickly. He was no closer than he had ever been to discovering what had been done to him. He still had no idea why the black unicorn had come back into Landover or what its importance was to Meeks. He knew only that there was a tie connecting all that had happened and he had to unknot it if he were ever to straighten this mess out.

Thinking of that led him to think once again about Edgewood Dirk. It continued to grate on him that the cat chose to remain such an enigma when he could obviously explain himself. Ben was reasonably sure by now that Dirk had not simply stumbled across him that first night in the lake country, but had deliberately sought him out. He was also reasonably sure that Dirk was staying with him for a reason and not simply out of curiosity. But Dirk was not about to explain himself to Ben until he felt like it; and given the cat’s peculiar nature, that explanation was
likely to be offered along about the twelfth of never. Still, it seemed abhorrent to Ben simply to accept the beast’s presence without making any further effort whatsoever to learn something of what had brought it to him in the first place.

As morning lengthened toward noon and the shadow of the Deep Fell began to grow visible, he decided to take another crack at the cat. He had been busy during the trek, mulling over the possibility of a common link between the various unicorns he had encountered since his dream. There were, after all, quite a number of them. There was the black unicorn. There were the sketched unicorns contained in the missing books of magic—correction, one of the missing books of magic; the other was burned-out shell. And there were the fairy unicorns that had disappeared centuries ago on their journey through Landover to the mortal worlds. It was the legend of the fairy unicorns that concerned him just now. He already believed that there must be a link between the black unicorn and the drawings contained in the books of magic. Otherwise, why had Meeks sent dreams of both? Why did he want them both so badly? The real question was whether they also had some connection with the missing fairy unicorns. He realized that it would be something of a coincidence if there actually were a connection among the three, but he was beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t be an even bigger coincidence if there weren’t. Magic tied all three in a single bond, and he would have bet his life that it was some sort of control over the magic that Meeks was after.

So. Enough debate. Maybe solving one of the little puzzles would aid in solving the big one. And maybe—just maybe—Edgewood Dirk would be less reticent to help …

“Dirk, you’ve been a lot of places and seen a lot of things.” He opened the conversation as casually as he could manage, not giving himself a chance to dwell further
on it. “What do you think about this legend of the missing fairy unicorns?”

The cat didn’t even look at him. “I don’t think about it at all.”

“No? Well what if you did think about it? You said you knew something of the missing white unicorns when we first met, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“About the unicorns the fairy people sent into the other worlds? The ones who somehow disappeared?”

“The very same.” Dirk sounded bored.

“So what do you think happened to them? How did they disappear?”

“How?” The cat sniffed. “They were stolen, of course.”

Ben was so astonished at getting a straight answer for a change that he failed to follow up on it for a moment. “But … stolen by whom?” he managed finally.

“By someone who wanted them, High Lord—who else? By someone who had the ability and means to capture them and hold them fast.”

“And who would that have been?”

Dirk sounded irritated. “Now who do you think that would have been?”

Ben hesitated, considering. “A wizard?”

“Not
a
wizard—
wizards
! There were many in those days, not simply one or two as there are now. They had their own guild, their own association—loosely formed, but effective when it chose to be. The magic was stronger then in Landover, and the wizards hired out to anyone who needed their skills most and could best afford it. They were powerful men for a time—until they chose to challenge the King himself.”

“What happened?”

“The King summoned the Paladin, and the Paladin destroyed them. After that, there was only one real wizard permitted—and he served the King.”

Ben frowned. “But if the unicorns were stolen by the wizards, what happened to them after the wizards were … disposed of? Why weren’t they set free?”

“No one knew where they were.”

“But shouldn’t someone have looked for them? Shouldn’t they have been found?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Then why weren’t they?”

Dirk slowed, stopped, and blinked sleepily. “The question no one asked then is the one you fail to ask now, High Lord. Why were the unicorns stolen in the first place?”

Ben stopped as well, thought momentarily, and shrugged. “They were beautiful creatures. The wizards wanted them for themselves, I suppose.”

“Yes, yes, yes! Is that the best you can do?”

“Well, uh …” He paused again, feeling very much a fool. “Why can’t you just explain it to me, damn it?” he demanded, exasperated.

Dirk eyed him steadily. “Because I don’t choose to,” he said softly. “Because you have to learn how to see things clearly again.”

Ben stared at him momentarily, glanced back at the G’home Gnomes who were watching from a safe distance back, and folded his arms across his chest wearily. He had no idea what Dirk was talking about, but it didn’t do any good to argue with the cat.

“All right,” he said finally. “Let me try again. The wizards discovered that the fairies were sending unicorns through Landover into the mortal worlds. They stole the unicorns for themselves instead. They stole them because …” He stopped, remembering suddenly the missing books and the drawings. “They stole the unicorns because they wanted their magic! That’s what the drawings in that book mean! They have something to do with the missing unicorns!”