The Secret Of The Unicorn Queen - Swept Away

by Josephena Sherman

“Not if they don’t enter as unicorns,” said Nanine slowly. “In my land, we have all sorts of festivals involving masquerades. Wait, now . . “ Her deft fingers began weaving long grasses together into something that looked like a long, hollow pyramid. “With your permission,” she said to Quiet Storm, and slipped it on over his horn, tying the cone in place with more strands of grass. “There! As long as he keeps his cloven hoofs hidden in the dust, he can pass as nothing more than a white horse wearing a unicorn disguise!”

  Quiet Storm snorted, tossing his head uneasily. He caught sight of his reflection in a small pool and stared. Then he turned sharply away, obviously insulted, and the women laughed. “Sorry, my friend,” Pelu told him. “But you’re going to have to put up with being just a horse, at least till we free your mistress.”

  Nanine was quickly plaiting disguises for the other unicorns. “But what about us?” she asked. “What are we supposed to be?”

  Pelu looked down at her ragged self. “Why, poor wandering actors, of course! What else? We’ll be . . . Ha, I have it! From now on, friends, we’re the Marvelous Magical Unicorn Troupe!”

  Illyria had been right, Sheila thought wearily. It had taken the three of them a full day to reach Campora by foot. At least they really did look like beggars now, dusty and travel-stained as they were, armor and weapons hidden under their tattered cloaks.

  She craned her head back, staring up and up at the massive city wall, seeing the guards patrolling the top of it. As far as Sheila could tell, the only way into Campora was through those huge, heavy gates of what looked like gleaming bronze. The gates were guarded by grim, spear­bearing soldiers in bronze-studded armor.

  “Are they going to let us in, just like that?” Sheila asked uneasily.

  Myno gave a short, sharp laugh. “Of course not. Campora has enough beggars of its own!”

  “Then how . . . ?”

  Myno glanced up at the sky. “Nearly sundown. That’s just about the time of day we want. See the crowds all around us, all headed toward the city? There’ll be a storm of people pretty soon, all trying to get in before the gates are shut for the night.” She grinned. “The guards aren’t going to have time to check everybody too carefully. And that’s how we’ll get in.”

  It was, indeed. The merchant who brought his cartload of goods into Campora never noticed the three figures who slipped silently out of the back of his cart and stole away into the night-dark streets.

  Sheila glanced eagerly around. Despite the danger, she had been looking forward to her first glimpse inside this exotic city. What wonders might there be? After all, there’d been such a wild mixture of costumes and lan­guages in the crowd making its slow way through the gates! Peeking warily out of the burlap sacking under which she had burrowed in the merchant’s cart, she had caught glimpses of men and women and children of all colors and types, from poor farmers clad in simple brown or gray tunics, to wealthy folk barely visible through the heavy silk coverings of their elegant litters borne by sweating slaves.

  But now that night was here, there was nothing to see but a maze of unpaved streets, smelling unpleasantly of horses and drains and things Sheila didn’t want to think about, faced on either side by whitewashed houses with barred, shuttered windows. Everyone but the three warriors seemed to have vanished up those streets or into those mysterious houses.

  “Campora, here we are!” whispered Sheila. “Now what?”

  Illyria tugged the hood of her cloak farther forward to hide the glint of her silvery hair. “Now,” she said, “We find the stables and hope that the unicorns are there.”

  “And hope we can get ‘em out without rousing Dynasian’s whole army,” muttered Myno. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  It was an eerie walk. The moon had risen, casting a cold, silver light over the quiet city, making the empty streets look like something out of a horror movie, Sheila thought. The warriors kept to the shadows as much as possible, walking as warily and silently as cats. But then all at once, a hand snaked out from an alleyway! Sheila gave a little shriek as it closed about her arm and pulled her into darkness.

  “Eh, what have we here? A girl!”

  Oh, great! thought Sheila, seeing the glint of a knife. A Camporan mugger!

  “C’mon, Raggas, what’ve you caught?”

  Muggers, corrected Sheila, a whole gang of them!

  She couldn’t get to her sword in the cramped space, so instead she brought her knee up sharply and got the thief right in the pit of the stomach. As he doubled up, gagging, Sheila managed to pull her sword free, just as the other thieves tried to rush her, Illyria and Myno joined her, steel flashing in the moonlight.

  “Swords! They’ve got swords!” hissed one of the thieves. “Run!”

  “No, fool! Only nobles carry swords. That means they’ve got gold, too! They’re just women. Get ‘em!”

  As one ruffian rushed Illyria, she skillfully parried his thrust, his long knife sliding up the blade of her sword with a painful screech of metal, till the two hilts locked. For a tense moment Illyria and the man strained against each other, breath hissing with the strain, each trying to tear the weapon out of the other’s grip. Then, with a mighty effort, Illyrla uncoiled her arm and sent the thief staggering back.

  “You—witch!” he cried, and made another rush at her, knife raised. Illyria lunged. Sheila winced and turned away as the shining sword pierced flesh. She heard the man shriek, and looked back just in time to see Illyria quickly pulling her weapon free from his crumpled form.

  “’Just women’?” Illyria asked wryly. “Come, fools. Come and die.”

  But suddenly there was a wild commotion from the street behind them. “The guards!” yelled one of the thieves. “Let’s get outta here!”

  “Good idea!” muttered Myno. “But there’s no place to run. The guards are all around us!”

  Trying not to panic, Sheila glanced tip and gave a little cry of relief. “Look! Those balconies should hold our weight.”

  Illyria nodded. “Hurry!”

  Scrabbling frantically, trying not to make any noise, the three warriors climbed up and up, all the way to a slippery tiled roof.

  “Down!” hissed Illyria, and they lay flat, watching the guards searching the streets below.

  They didn’t see us! thought Sheila in relief. We’re safe! “Myno,” said Illyria softly as the baffled guards dispersed, “aren’t those the stable roofs I see, over there?”

  Myno nodded, and Illyria grinned, her teeth flashing white in the darkness.

  “How conveniently close together the houses all stand. I see no reason for us to risk our necks down there… “

  “When we could be risking them up here, instead,” whispered Sheila.

  “All right, let’s try it,” Illyria ordered.

  As the guards continued to patrol the streets, the three warriors moved silently over the rooftops, leaping lightly from house to house, till at last they had slid over the stable wall down to the ground again. There in a large, well-guarded corral were—“Unicorns!” breathed Sheila. She started forward, but Myno caught her by the arm.

  The three warriors huddled in shadow against a wall as a new squadron of guards approached to relieve the men on duty. The new guards were full of gossip, and the three warriors stole forward to listen. What they heard filled them with horror.

  “Too bad about the unicorns.”

  “Yeah, Pretty beasts. Feels good just to be around them. Too bad they have to die.”

  “It’s that Mardock’s fault.” The soldier dropped his voice to a wary whisper, looking nervously about him. “Encouraging Dynasian to make pacts with King Kumuru of Samarna.”

  “Kumuru of Darkness, you mean. Everyone knows he worships the Dark Gods! What does Campora need with the likes of him?”

  The first soldier shrugged. “Kumuru has an army. Dynasian wants to join it to ours and conquer the world. It’s not our affair.”

  As they strolled past the spot where the three warriors were
hidden, the second soldier, the man who liked unicorns, muttered, “Not our affair, no. Not our affair that to seal the alliance, Dynasian’s going to send half that pretty herd to Kumuru in the morning—for sacrifice!”

  As the soldiers disappeared beyond the stable wall, IIlyria straightened. “Sacrificing unicorns to the Dark Gods! I never imagined that even Dynasian would stoop so low!”

  “We’ve got to free them!” gasped Sheila.

  “What a pity you won’t succeed,” said a smooth, sly voice.

  As the warriors whirled in shock, a shadow seemed to move forward out of darkness. It wasn’t a shadow, Sheila realized after the first, startled moment. It was a man—tall, lean, handsome in a cold, harsh sort of way—clad in elegant, silky, black robes.

  His long hair and beard were black, too. And his eyes were as hard and cruel as ebony.

  “Mardock!” cried Myno.

  “Ah, I see you know me,” the sorcerer purred. “How flattering. Especially since I shall be the last person you see before you die!”

  With that, he raised his arms, the wide sleeves of his black robes fluttering like the wings of some terrible night creature.

  Sheila stared in sheer disbelief as she saw blue lightning flash and crackle about him. But then she heard Mardock begin to murmur twisted, ugly, alien words. And though she couldn’t understand them, she knew that this was the beginning of a spell—a spell that would mean her death!

  12

  Trapped!

  The dark power of the building spell held the three women stunned and helpless.

  As though we’re stuck in glue! thought Sheila. But even though she couldn’t move, she could still use her brain. Her mind raced wildly, trying to come up with some way to fight back. As soon as the spell was finished, it would be the end of the three of them, she knew it, but she couldn’t think of a thing. Already the air seemed so thick… It was so difficult just to breathe…

  No! I’m not going to give up! There’s got to be something I can do!

  “Uh . . . wait!” she called to the sorcerer. “You mustn’t do this!”

  Cruel humor flickered in Mardock’s eyes. With a commanding wave of his hands, he held the growing force of magic in check. “Why not, little fool?”

  “Because-because. . .” Because why? Sheila hadn’t the vaguest idea of what she was going to say next. But she had better keep talking, because Mardock’s patience wasn’t going to last forever, “Because I—I have some magic, too.”

  “Do you?” mocked the sorcerer with a sneer.

  No, I—what I mean is that I’m a-a sort of an apprentice. Of science.”

  Mardock frowned at the unfamiliar word, puzzled. “Science?” he echoed warily.

  “Yes.” Sheila hurried on, “I-I work with Dr. Reit on things like the Molecular Acceleration Transport Device.”

  Mardock blinked, confused by what must have sounded to him like alien sorcery, indeed. “Small magics,” he said after a moment, but he was plainly bluffing. “My spell cannot be held in check much longer. What are you trying to say, girl?”

  “Well, I . . . I’ve seen Dr. Reit’s science. But your sorcery is the most amazing I’ve ever seen!” True enough, thought Sheila. After all, I’ve never seen any sorcery! “I-I might like to learn it, too.”

  “Indeed.”

  The cold black eyes stared at her as if trying to pierce right through her mind. Sheila desperately tried to keep her thoughts a blank. She had read a story somewhere about a man who kept someone from reading his mind by reciting the multiplication tables.

  Let’s see now . . . one times one equals one, two times two is four, three times three is . . . is . . . I can’t hold him off much longer! Three times three is- “Clever child!” said Mardock, and the terrible pressure vanished from her mind. “Oh, I could break you easily enough. But why bother? Besides, you just might make a cunning apprentice. Come here, girl.”

  “Uh, not-not yet. First let my friends go.”

  “So that’s the game, is it? Fool! The first thing a sorcerer learns is that he has no friends! Forget those two. Come to me and you shall live—but only if you watch them die!”

  Sheila swallowed, her throat dry, aware of Illyria and Myno staring proudly ahead. They weren’t going to beg. She must make her own decision. If she went over to Mardock’s side, she would be safe. But . . . to see Illyria and Myno die...

  “No,” Sheila said, amazed at the steadiness of her voice. “Sorry, Mardock. I can’t do it. I’m not going to let them die.”

  “Then die with them, fool!”

  And he began the black chant anew. As Mardock’s evil magic flashed and crackled about him, Sheila’s thoughts circled and circled, and kept returning to: What do you fight darkness with? Light, of course, but—

  Light! Sheila gasped as the idea struck her.

  Yes! I’ve got it!

  It was a slim chance, but it was the only chance they had. She began rummaging frantically through her backpack, her fingers feeling hopelessly clumsy and slow. Mardock was concentrating too hard to notice her movements.

  Where is the thing? Where is it?

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sheila saw Illyria fighting off the heaviness of the building magic, then with a groan of effort, draw her sword and lunge at the sorcerer. But before she could reach Mardock, she was thrown violently back against a wall, the weapon flying from her hand.

  “Now,” hissed the sorcerer, “you all die!”

  At that very moment Sheila’s hand closed about a familiar object. With a triumphant cry she pulled it out of her pack and flicked a switch-“Aagh!!” Mardock cried out in shock as the flashlight’s beam blazed right into his eyes! The blue lightning of his spell dissolved into nothingness as he staggered back clawing at his face, terrified of this new, alien magic.

  “Come on!” whispered Sheila. “Let’s get out of here!”

  She started backing warily away, holding the sorcerer transfixed by the beam of light. A little farther, now, and she could just turn and run.

  But suddenly the flashlight’s light flickered.

  Oh, no! thought Sheila. Not now! Please, not now!

  The light flickered on again. And then it went out. Sheila shook the flashlight. “Come on!” she cried. But nothing happened.

  “I knew I should have put in new batteries!” the girl wailed.

  The three women raced for their lives. Expecting at every moment to be struck down by some terrible sorcery, Sheila risked a quick glance back over her shoulder. Mardock, hand over his dazzled eyes, was in no condition to cast a spell. Yet. They just might make it—

  But the light and noise had attracted guards. Their bronze-studded armor clashed loudly as they hurried after the three warriors, swords flashing in the moonlight. But a cloud suddenly covered the moon, and all at once it was too dark to tell friend from foe.

  Sheila stifled a hysterical giggle as she heard one guard yelp and shout at another guard who had just accidentally jabbed him right in the backside. It really wasn’t funny, not when she realized the next wild swing of a sword might get her.

  “Don’t kill them, you fools!’ came Mardock’s angry shout. “Just stop them! Surround them!”

  Sheila bit her lip in terror. How were they going to get out of here? All around her were dimly moving shapes—where were Illyria and Myno?

  “Sheila!” It was Illyria’s tense whisper. “This wayl”

  The woman caught her hand, pulling her toward safety—Too late. In the confusion Myno made it to safety; but just at the wrong moment the moon came out from behind the cloud, pinning Sheila and Illyria in a silvery spot-light.

  “There they are!” someone shouted.

  Before they could move, the two warriors were surrounded by guards, a circle of deadly spearheads pointed straight at them.

  “Put down your swords,” said a grim voice.

  Illyria sighed. “One of the important lessons in becoming a warrior,” she told Sheila, as calmly as though they were alone, “
is knowing when to surrender.”

  They were dragged through the streets of Campora, up a steep, winding hill. The houses on either side grew more elegant with every step, set back from the street, surrounded by high walls. Through ornate ironwork gates Sheila caught glimpses of tantalizing marble pavilions, magnificent gardens, and palaces. She wasn’t surprised that the most splendid palace of all stood on the very crest of the hill. It was a huge building. Buildings, really, thought Sheila, staring—a collection of them all joined together, each one built in a different style. Some had steep, peaked roofs covered in many-colored tiles, some had golden domes, and there were even a couple that seemed to consist mostly of columns. All the buildings were of gleaming white marble covered with bizarre, elegant carvings showered in gold.

  But this was no time for sightseeing. She and Illyria were pushed roughly forward through the front gates and down a long pathway lined with grim-faced statues and paved with slippery marble. At the end of the path a guard rapped three times on a huge bronze door. It swung silently open on well-oiled hinges; they entered a large room, bright with candlelight reflected off gold, silver, and gems that encrusted the interior. On a dais, at the far end of the room, a man lounged idly on a crimson and gold brocade sofa. He was wearing the ugliest, most wildly colored silk robes Sheila had ever seen. The guards led the warrior women toward him. When they were a foot from the dais, the guards forced Sheila and Illyria to their knees and stood with swords drawn all around.

  This must be Dynasian, Sheila realized with a shiver. The emperor sat upright slowly, studying his prisoners lazily through a small crystal lens on a golden chain. Despite the danger, Sheila felt disappointed.

  This was the terrible Dynasian? She had expected a tall, dark, majestically evil figure. Dynasian was rather short, and fat, and balding clutching his gaudy robes about him with a clumsy hand. His eyes were small and piggy, nearly lost in the folds of his pudgy face. But when those eyes met her gaze, Sheila knew fear as if for the first time. They were gray as ice, cold and hard, an d absolutely without pity. Suddenly Dynasian wasn’t the least bit funny.