It was a small figurine of a woman, quite well executed. "Who made this?" Stile asked.
'Trool," the Lady replied. "He appears clumsy, but his big hands have magic. When he is not tunneling, he turns that magic to sculpture, to relieve his nervousness."
"Facing two ogres, I can appreciate his concern! Why did he step out on to the land, where they had power?"
"To stop them from charging me," she said. "Trolls are not my favorite creature, but Trool acted bravely and selflessly. If again we meet, I shall call him friend."
"Yet if he is honoring a prophecy, I can not reward him," Stile said. "That might alter the meaning of his action and void the prophecy, causing mischief."
"True," she agreed soberly.
Stile contemplated the figurine. "This is thee!" he exclaimed, surprised.
She shrugged. "He begged my leave. He works better when he has a subject. I saw no harm."
Figurine magic could be potent — but the Red Adept had specialized in that, with her amulets, and she was gone. "No, no harm," Stile agreed. "He's a fine craftsman. This is as pretty a statuette as I've seen."
"We forget Clip," she reminded him, taking the statuette from him.
"In a moment. Now for these monsters." Stile conjured a cage around the two, then unfroze them. They rattled the bars for several minutes before conceding they were effectively imprisoned; then they were ready to listen to Stile.
"Know, ogres, that I am the Blue Adept," Stile said. "This is my Lady Blue. Why did the five of you attack her?"
"Blue be now our enemy," one repeated.
"The Oracle told thee that?"
"Told Brogbt."
"Who is Brogbt?"
The ogre pointed to one of the dead monsters.
"Then must I make the dead to speak," Stile said grimly. He pondered, working out a spell, then sang: "Ogre Brogbt, under my spell, the true message do thou tell."
The dead ogre stirred. Flies buzzed up angrily. Its rigor-stiffened mouth cracked open. "Blue be not thine enemy," it croaked, and lay still again.
"Not!" the Lady exclaimed. "It said not!"
Both living ogres seemed surprised. "Brogbt told us now."
"He thought the word was now. He was enchanted, and heard or remembered it wrong. I am not thine enemy. Now thou knowest."
"Now I know," the ogre agreed, adapting dully to this new reality.
Stile eliminated their cage. "Go inform thy kind of the truth."
They stomped away.
"Thou art as ever generous in victory," the Lady said.
"Now for the unicorn." Stile made a spell that set Clip's hoofprints glowing, and they followed these. The trail led over a hill to a copse of evergreens and entered the dense forest island.
"Where are the mare's prints?" the Lady asked.
Stile sang a new spell to make those also glow, but evoked nothing.
"She was mere illusion," the Lady said. "A sending to distract him so the ogres could get to me. This surely means mischief. Had Trool not interfered-"
Stile made another spell. "Make an image, make it sooth, of the unicorn, of the truth."
The image formed, like a holograph, three-dimensional.
Clip walked beside a phantom. The unreal mare led him into the copse — and there a flash occurred, and the unicorn was gone.
"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 can not 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 passion. 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 powerfully 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 Fhaze. 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, shifting momentarily to girl-form in his arms, in the mischievous way she had. Then she shifted 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 attacked 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 assumed 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 noble creature was again in his natural form and had evidently assimilated 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-horn, 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, shifting 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 bump that made its passenger 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 taking 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 butt out. I hastened to bring it to thee, fearing further malice against thee an I delayed. My potions indicate that more than one Adept participates 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 unwrapped 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.
The Herd Stallion was back in man-form. He put forth his large hand to take the horn. His eyes were blazing like the windows of a furnace, and steam was rising from him. "They dare!" he rasped, staring at the member.
"For this will I visit a conflagration on the Demesnes of every Adept involved!" Stile said, finding his voice at last. "On every creature who cooperated. I will level mountains to get at them. What the Blue Adept did to the trolls and jackals shall be as nothing." Already the air was becoming charged with the force of his developing oath; dark coils of fog were swirling. "Only let me make my music, find my rhyme-"
"Nay, Adept," the Herd Stallion said gruffly. "He is of my herd. Not thine but mine is this vengeance."
"But thou canst not leave thy herd unguarded," Stile protested.
"Another Stallion will assist, for this occasion."
"And thou canst not face Adepts alone. Only an Adept can oppose an Adept."
The Stallion snorted smoke from his human nostrils, heeding Stile's caution through his fury. "True. Not alone can I accomplish it. Only half the vengeance is mine to claim."
"Just give me a steed, and I will-"
"I will be thy steed!" the Stallion said.
Neysa, on the ground, perked up her ears. The Lady
Blue's eyes widened as she recognized the possibilities. No human being had ever ridden a Herd Stallion, virtually a breed apart. Yet if the power of an Adept coordinated with that of a unicorn Stallion-
Stile could not decline. They shared a vengeance.
8. Wager (SF)
"So I have most of twenty-four hours in Proton," Stile said to Sheen, "before the Stallion and I commence our mission of rescue and vengeance. I'll have to spend some of that time in sleep, gathering my strength. I trust you have my business here well organized."
"We do," she agreed brightly. "Mellon has lined up a number of wealthy Citizens who are eager to wipe you out financially. My friends have worked out a way to trace the original message to Citizen Kalder — but only you, an interested Citizen, can implement it. And there is reaction approaching suppressed riot to the news of the designation of your heir."
"That's enough to start on," S
tile said. "Maybe it will distract me for the moment from my real concern in Phaze. Let's see how much we can sandwich in. I don't know how long my next adventure in Phaze will hold me."
"Perhaps forever," she said darkly. Then, mechanically, she reverted to immediate business. "Start on which, sir? You can't do everything at once."
"Why not?"
"The bettors are in the Stellar Lounge, as before. The panel for your heir-designation hearing is in another dome, a hundred kilometers distant. And the first
obscurity in the message chain is at a dome fifty kilometers beyond that, in the private property of a Citizen. Any one of these situations can monopolize your available time."
"You think too much like a machine," he chided her. "Take me to the hearing. Meanwhile, call the Stellar Lounge."
Frowning, she set the travel capsule in motion and placed the call. Mellon appeared in three-dimensional image. "So good to see you, sir. May I notify the Citizens that you are ready for action?"
"Do so," Stile said. "But advise them that I have unusual and challenging bets in mind and will welcome them at the site of my heir-designation hearing. You be there too."
"Yes, sir." Mellon faded out.
Immediately there was an incoming call. It was Citizen Merle. "My intercept notified me you were back in town," she said brightly. "Have you considered my invitation of the morning?"
Not this again! "Merle, I remain flattered. But there are things you should know."
"About your lovely wife in the other frame? Stile, that has no force in Proton."
"About my engagement to the serf Sheen, here," Stile said, unpleased about Merle's conversance with his private life. Too many Citizens were learning too much about him.
"Yes, I mean to place a bet on the outcome of your hearing," Merle agreed. "I'm rooting for you, Stile; I'm betting you will gain approval, after a struggle. Citizens are by no means limited in their liaisons. I have gifted my husband with a number of fine concubines, and he has sent me whichever males he suspects will appeal to my tastes. In any event, you need have no concern about the feelings of a serf."
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