by Unknown
Illyria's blue eyes were troubled when she answered. "No. No one is going to ride Quiet Storm today. I went to saddle him and he reared up, panicked. He won't let me near him." She ran her hand down Morning Star's back, “I've never seen him like this before."
"It's no mystery," said Nanine, anger close to the surface, "It was the mage—he put Quiet Storm under a spell."
Illyria sighed. "I don't know how to lift the spell, and that's something I can't even attend to now. I need your help, Sheila. I must meet with Nemor this afternoon. Morning Star is the gentlest of the unicorns. I fear I would spend half a day convincing any of the others to accept me. Will you let me borrow her? Besides," she added with a smile, "I need you to stay with Darian and Quiet Storm. Whom else would I trust with my two dearest loves?"
Sheila was disappointed, but she knew she couldn't refuse, Resigning herself to the new plan, she ran her hand through Morning Star's mane. "You'll take Illyria where she wants to go, won't you?"
Morning Star gazed at her through long white lashes, as if to be sure she meant it.
"Please," Sheila urged the mare. "And you must protect her as you would me."
The unicorn gave her a slightly reproachful look, then turned toward Illyria. She lowered her black horn, and for a moment Sheila feared that the mare was preparing to charge.
Again, Illyria held out the greens. "Come, Morning Star," she said, her voice confident and gentle. "It's only till Quiet Storm is well again."
Sheila was relieved to see that, after a moment's hesitation, the unicorn munched down her gift and allowed Illyria to mount her.
Within minutes Illyria had summoned the other riders, and they had departed for Odelia. Sheila was left with Quiet Storm, Darian, and the wild unicorns. Despite IIlyria's comforting words, she was sure she had been the one left behind because she was the least-experienced warrior. And having been left in the camp the day before, she was restless. The relentless rhythm of breaking camp every day and riding for miles must have gotten into her blood. Two days in one place and she longed to be riding again.
Feeling extremely grumpy, she surveyed the camp. Most of the herd stood by the edge of the stream, drinking quietly. But at the far end of the canyon, Quiet Storm stood alone. She saw immediately why the others wouldn't go near him. The stallion's eyes were wild and his sides were heaving. As if fighting an invisible enemy, he was caught in a furious pattern—rearing up, coming down and lowering his head for a charge, and then bucking as if a demon rode him. Oh, you poor thing, Sheila thought, you're trying to break the spell on your own. If we don't get you cured, you'll probably die of exhaustion.
She turned back to the camp. Darian sat by Illyria's tent, his back against a tree, his right arm splinted and in a sling. Pelu had assured her that he was no longer in pain. He might still be groggy from the sleeping potion, she explained, but if he didn't attempt anything too heroic, he would be fine. Sheila was supposed to make sure that he rested.
Reluctantly Sheila approached her charge. She had a feeling that telling Darian to rest would be about as effective as telling Wildwing to slow down.
"Hi," she said. "Are you feeling better?"
Darian didn't look at her, but stared at the ground. "I'm fine," he answered in a flat voice. "Quiet Storm's going crazy, and I'm just sitting here. It feels great to be absolutely useless."
"You're not-" She stopped midsentence as he looked up, his eyes nearly black with anger.
"Tell me what it is I'm good for," he challenged. "I can't fight, can't ride. I can barely stand without feeling the ground spin."
"That's just the sleeping potion. Pelu said it would wear off."
“Pelu said it would wear off," he mimicked in mincing tones.
Sheila decided he had had enough sympathy. "I'm not exactly happy about staying here, either," she told him heatedly, "especially with you for company. I've seen six-year-olds who handled broken arms better. You get hurt and think it's an excuse to turn into a whining, sniveling, self-pitying-"
''All right, all right." There was the faintest trace of a smile on his mouth as he held up his good arm in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry . . . especially because I owe you my thanks,"
"For what?''
"For saving my life last night. If you hadn't caught the intruder's knife hand and held it"-he gave her a dazzling grin-"I wouldn't be sitting here giving you such a rough time,"
"Don't make me regret my heroism," Sheila muttered.
Unrepentant, Darian held out his good hand. "Friends again?"
Sheila looked at him in exasperation. She had never met anyone so moody. One minute he was ready to snap her head off, the next he was charming her.
"Friends," she agreed with mock reluctance.
Darian leaned back against the tree and regarded her with lazy curiosity. "So, since I'm your patient for the day, how do you intend to amuse me?"
"Amuse you?" she sputtered, getting to her feet. "You can amuse yourself, you obnoxious-"
"Oh, Sheila, don't get mad," he broke in. "I only meant maybe you had something in your backpack."
More than any of the others, Darian had been intrigued by the contents of Sheila's backpack. Everything from the twentieth century seemed to fascinate him. With the exception of his sword, the Mickey Mouse watch Sheila had given him had become his most valued possession.
"I think you've already seen it all," Sheila answered. She was still wearing the pack; after Illyria had told her she had to stay, she hadn't bothered to take it off. Now she zipped it open and peered inside. "Maybe listening to music will improve your mood." She took out the tape player and flipped it on.
Darian looked a little unnerved at the sound of Springsteen's voice booming out at him, but watched the tape player with fascination. Sheila had already tried to explain to him how it worked, but she got stuck when it came to how the voice actually got onto the tape. She wasn't too clear about that herself.
"Do you have anything else?" Darian asked hopefully.
Sheila rummaged in the bottom of the pack. No sense wasting the matches, flashlight, or Band-Aids to impress Darian. He had already seen the notebook and pen and her mirror. She smiled as her hands closed on a pack of bubble gum.
"I've got it," she declared triumphantly, holding out a stick of gum.
Darian examined the flat, paper-wrapped object "What does it do?"
"You chew it. But don't swallow it."
He raised an eyebrow, then dutifully started to put it in his mouth.
"Take the paper off first," Sheila suggested, trying to keep a straight face. Just to make sure he got the idea, she unwrapped a piece for herself.
Darian did as he was told and began chewing. He chewed in silence for several minutes. "It tastes good," he announced at last, "but not like food."
"It's not food," Sheila assured him.
"Then why am I chewing it?" A look of betrayal crossed his face. "This is like Pelu's herbs, a medicine. You thought you could trick me!"
Sheila giggled helplessly. "It's not food and it's not medicine. It won't do you any good at all." He looked at her menacingly. "And it won't hurt you, either," she added quickly. "I promise. Gum is just something we chew because it tastes good. And with bubble gum, which is what this is, you can blow bubbles."
Darian looked mystified as she blew a perfect pink bubble and then popped it back into her mouth, He chewed harder as she blew another.
"You can't do it by chewing," Sheila said. "Here, I'll show you how." She figured a lesson in blowing bubbles might not exactly equal one in swordplay, but at least it would help pass the time and keep Darian out of trouble.
Half an hour later Sheila and Darian were laughing so hard they could barely sit up straight. Darian had tried valiantly to blow bubbles and had succeeded only in making terrible faces. Sheila had completely given up on trying to explain; blowing bubbles was more complicated than she had realized. Secretly she was amused to have discovered one thing Darian wasn't good a
t.
"Let me try one more time," he gasped as a last fit of laughter passed. With tremendous concentration he chewed some more—and blew the tiniest bubble Sheila had ever seen.
"You did it!" she shouted.
"Did what, dear girl?" asked a perplexed voice.
Darian's mouth dropped open and the gum, bubble and all, fell out.
"Dr Reit?" Sheila couldn't believe what she was seeing. The apparition of the elderly scientist got weirder every time she saw him. "What are you doing on a skate-board? And wearing hightops?"
"Do you like them?" he asked, looking quite pleased with himself. "I was told by a reliable source that one must have hightops to skateboard properly."
Sheila just shook her head in amazement.
Darian nudged her. "Oh, Dr. Reit, this is Darian, IIlyria's brother. He's been wanting to meet you.”
"Sheila has told us that you are a powerful sorcerer,” Darian said.
Dr. Reit nodded absently in the boy's direction. "Yes, well, I wouldn't phrase it that way myself, but the general idea is velocity.”
"Velocity?" Sheila asked.
"That's why I'm here on the skateboard," Dr. Reit said, as if that explained everything. For the first time he noticed their blank expressions. "You see, I've discovered that the key to traveling through time is velocity—speed. This skateboard, with a little tinkering"-he pointed to a tiny jet attached to the base of the board-"provided the acceleration necessary to get me back here."
"And you've come to take Sheila home," Darlan said in a hard voice.
"Oh, I am sorry, but no. There's simply not enough power on this skateboard."
"It figures," Sheila murmured.
"I'm working on it," the scientist said with a frown. "However, we'll deal with that problem when the time comes. I'm here on another matter entirely. When I left you last time, I had every intention of materializing in my laboratory. But I took a slight detour and wound up in the camp of that character you call Nemor. He certainly is a charismatic fellow. His followers think the world of him. But he's making plans that could be dangerous. Very dangerous indeed,"
"You mean for the unicorn riders," Sheila said.
For once Dr. Reit gave a straightforward answer, "Sheila, I overheard a conversation between Nemor and a man named Valan, a man who fancies himself a wizard. Wears a gold necklace."
"He is a wizard," Darian said. "And a powerful one."
"Anyway, it became clear from their conversation that Nemor is not fighting Dynasian at all. Oh, I think he did for a while, but the tyrant has bought him back. The attack on the fortress you told me about is Dynasian's plan. He means not only to lure Illyria into his stronghold, but to destroy all of the riders as well. They said something about 'natural defenses,' but I couldn't quite catch their meaning. Perhaps I should return and investigate further. That will mean, of course, that I will have to recalculate my coordinates from here and-"
"It's a trap," Darian said quietly. "And even now my sister rides into the traitor's camp." Using the trees for support, he raised himself slowly and then stood for a moment, as if to be sure he had his balance back, He gave a soft, low whistle.
"Darian," Sheila said uneasily, 'what are you doing?"
Darian ignored her question instead turning to Dr. Reit. "The Sareen encampment, did you notice where it was—hidden by trees, in a valley, on a hillside?"
"Dear me"-the scientist's form began to waver-"' didn't really look. I was so absorbed in what Nemor and Valan were saying, not to mention my own coordinates of velocity and-" As he spoke his image gradually began to fade until by the time he said the word velocity, he was no more than a voice.
"Bye, Dr. Reit." Sheila tried not to sound hurt. She knew the scientist was doing his best to rescue her, but every time he left, she couldn't help wondering if he had left for good.
Darian took her mind off her problems by whistling again, this time a little louder. In answer, Wildwing ran toward them, clearly excited by the summons. Darian turned toward his tent.
"Darian," Sheila said, "where do you think you're go-“
"I'm going to get my saddle," he said casually. "Where did you think I was going?"
Sheila sighed. "You're in no shape to ride Wildwing. Pelu said you were to rest."
"Pelu didn't know that Nemor is fighting for Dynasian. I can't let Illyria ride into his camp without warning. And as for riding Wildwing, that won't be a problem."
"With one arm?" Sheila scoffed.
The boy shrugged and disappeared into his tent. He emerged a few moments later, holding both saddle and sword in one hand. Sheila watched with mixed feelings. She couldn't help but admire how well he was managing. At the same time he was taking a serious risk. After all, it wasn't like his arm was in a plaster cast; one good jolt on Wildwing could easily disturb the newly set bones.
And after last night, she knew she couldn't stand to see him in pain again.
"Riding with my arm in a sling isn't that different from riding with a spear," Darian said reasonably. He fitted the saddle over the unicorn's back, "Besides, you're going to be the one riding him. Then all I have to do is hold on."
"You're out of your mind,” Sheila said. "We can't leave Quiet Storm,"
“We're leaving Quiet Storm guarded by the other unicorns. They're certainly better protection than either one of us. Besides, do you really think anyone could get near him in the state he's in?"
Quiet Storm was no longer bucking, but his head was lowered, his horn tearing violently through the air. Clearly, he was still in the midst of some invisible battle.
"Valan got near him last night," Sheila pointed out.
Awkwardly, Darian struggled to buckle his sword around his waist. Sheila didn't offer to help.
"Look," he said, "I don't feel good about leaving him, either, but I think I can do more good by warning Illyria than by watching Quiet Storm wear himself out."
"Fine, You go."
"Oh, no. I'm not leaving you alone."
Sheila faced him furiously. "I don't need your protection!"
"But I need yours," he said with a disarming grin. His eyes went wide with calculated innocence. "Didn't Illyria say you were supposed to take care of me?"
"She didn't tell me it would be like babysitting for a hyperactive toddler!" Sheila crossed her arms and turned away from him. Briefly she wondered if the word hyperactive had translated into his language.
Even with one arm in a sling, Darian mounted the unicorn easily. His pressed his knee against Wildwing's side and the unicorn walked around Sheila so that Darian was once again facing her. He held out his left hand. ''Please?"
“You'll go anyway, won't you?"
''I have to.''
Sheila gave in with a groan and let him pull her into the saddle. "All right," she said, "but if anyone asks, this was your idea."
9
Valan's Deal
Neither Darian nor Sheila knew exactly where Odelia was, but Darian had the general idea that it was about twelve miles northwest of the canyon. He was sure that once they reached Odelia, someone would tell them where to find the Sareen camp.
Sheila didn't have a better idea, so she followed his directions. She just hoped that they wouldn't encounter any of Dynasian's soldiers. The two of them alone, especially with Darian wounded, wouldn't stand a chance.
The noon sun burned hot as they rode, and Sheila leaned forward into the wind. The air was so hot and dry, it felt as if they were riding under a blow dryer. Why, Sheila wondered, couldn't she have time traveled into a world where people did things like go to the beach?
Darian broke into her thoughts as they came to a fork in the road. "I think you want to go right here."
"You think?"
"Just try it."
Darian hadn't said much since they had left camp. He had been too busy holding on and trying to keep his arm from being jostled. On a horse they wouldn't have gotten ten yards. But Wildwing moved with the near-psychic intuition She
ila had come to identify with the unicorns.
The powerful stallion held himself in a smooth, even canter that was as close as he could come to cushioning his riders.
"To the right," Darian repeated in a tight voice.
Sheila wondered if he was in pain or just anxious about Illyria. Using her knee, she guided Wildwing to the right.
Ahead, the narrow road dipped down sharply, and as far as Sheila could tell, it was completely overgrown with a canopy of trees. In the dry southern lands of the empire, this was definitely weird. She half-expected Wildwing to turn and run in the opposite direction.
"Darian"-she tried to keep her voice calm-"are you sure this is the way we want to go?"
He leaned forward in the saddle, peering over her shoulder. "Keep going,” he said quietly.
Wildwing walked at a steady, even pace, carrying them into what looked like a tunnel formed by the trees. A few narrow bands of sunlight slipped through the thick cover of branches. And yet there was no relief from the heat. If anything, it was hotter under the trees—and incredibly humid. Sheila brushed a soft green frond away from her face. The farther they went, the thicker the trees grew and the darker the road became. What had they done, suddenly ridden into the heart of a jungle?
"Darian," Sheila said, "I think we took a wrong turn…”
“No, we didn't.''
With considerable effort, she got Wildwing to halt. "Look at this place-all these trees. I haven't seen anything like this since I entered your world. It's all wrong for this climate."
Darian’s voice was sharp with impatience. "Don't you think I know that?"
"Well, if you know it, why are we here?" Sheila tugged on the straps of her backpack. Beneath it, her tunic was soaked with sweat. Even the air was changed on this overgrown path. The air reeked with the smell of something sweet and decaying. Whatever this place was, it felt completely wrong.
Sheila made a quick decision. She wasn't going to argue with Darian on this one. She pressed her heels into Wildwing and brought his head around.