by Andre Norton
Rena looked back; Myre was out of sight, and the elven riders mere dots on the riverbank—a moment later, they vanished, too, in the gray sheets of water pouring from the heavens. The boat was still picking up speed.
They were on their own, and her heart contracted with fear.
The boat didn't slacken speed until they had passed out of the storm and were well into some of the untamed lands held by no elven overlord. By then, Lorryn's face was gray with exhaustion, and Rena's hands ached with the effort of holding on to the sides. The river was full of debris, and Lorryn had been forced to make several abrupt corrections to their course to avoid hitting any of it, corrections that would have thrown her out of the boat to be left behind like Myre.
Finally, when the spell at last ran out, Lorryn used the slackening momentum, took the rudder and brought them in to the southern bank of the river, they both pitched their packs into the underbrush and clambered clumsily over the side onto the low bank. Lorryn pushed the boat away with a branch and let the river take it again; they stared after it until it disappeared.
With any luck, they won't be able to guess where we put ashore even when they find it, Lorryn said, shouldering his pack. That should give us some time, I hope.
Rena shrugged into her own pack, wishing it held something dry and warm to wear. She was so cold now that she had stopped shivering; the cold went all the way down to her bones. She couldn't have shivered now if she wanted to; fear and chill held her in a kind of choked silence and stillness. Now where do we go? she asked timidly, trying not to sound as if she was accusing Lorryn of anything. We lost Myre.
He sighed, and stared off into the forest. Well, she said the dragons weren't far. Didn't she say they were south of here?
Rena didn't remember anything of the kind, but it hardly mattered. One direction was as good as another, as long as they went away from those who were hunting them. She made a gesture of hopeless bafflement. Can you—do you know if there's anyone around here? Anyone who might come after us?
She was so afraid—so very afraid. Enemies behind them, the unknown all about them, and their guide lost beyond hope of finding again—what could they do?
Any elves, you mean? I don't think it's safe to use elven magic, but there's that human trick of listening for thoughts that I can try. He closed his eyes, and his face took on that listening look. I can't sense anything but the minds of animals. We should be safe enough for a while. Maybe safe enough to find some shelter, build a fire, get dry.
Dry and warm. Dared she hope that they might escape after all? Right now, simply being dry and warm sounded like paradise. You had better lead, she told him. You've hunted, you know what to look out for. And you're the one with the weapons.
At that reminder, he checked his bow, found it useless, and drew his knife instead. He looked as if he was about to say something else, frowned as if he thought better of it, and led the way into the underbrush.
There's no one within range of Lorryn's mind. For now, we're safe, she told her pounding heart, her sinking spirit. We can escape. We can!
Rena followed behind him, wishing she weren't carrying a huge weight of water along with the pack, wishing this were all a nightmare. As fear ebbed, other discomforts began. Her stomach ached with hunger, and her shoulders hurt where the pack-straps cut into them. Right now, marriage to Lord Gildor didn't seem like such a bad thing after all…
They might have come out of the storm, but the day was still overcast, and every tree dripped water down onto the deer path Lorryn had found. She had thought she couldn't be any colder or more miserable, but every time another branch sent a load of cold drops down the back of her neck, she discovered she was only beginning to learn what misery meant. Her boots didn't quite fit, despite all the stockings she wore, and she was getting a blister on one heel. She could hardly feel her fingers.
She kept her eyes on her feet and the path in front of her, as her legs began to ache, joining her aching shoulders. And a headache began as well.
She was so wet, so cold. If only she dared use a little magic—
Well, why not?
My magics are so small… I can at least make myself a little warmer, a little drier. Surely no one will notice that.
She narrowed her concentration, and insinuated her magics into her clothing, working from the skin out, and the feet up, driving the water out of the fabric, fiber by fiber. It was something like flower-sculpting, after all; just shoving the water away from where she didn't want it, slowly and patiently. When it reached the surface of her clothing, she let it bead up and run off.
At least while she was concentrating on that, it was easier to ignore her aching legs and shoulders.
And it was working! First her feet inside her boots, then her legs, then her torso, and finally her arms, were dry, warm—she turned her attention to her pack, shoving the water ahead of a kind of barrier she created at her back. The pack got lighter and lighter as she squeezed the water out, and before too long, it was actually bearable to carry the lightened weight of it!
Rena? Are you working magic? Lorryn said, breaking her concentration.
She hesitated a moment. Just a little, she replied, meekly. I was so cold and wet—I haven't done anything wrong, have I? Her eyes opened wide with alarm. They haven't felt it, have they? I—
It's all right, Lorryn said quickly, pushing aside a heavy branch with his free hand. I wasn't sure you were working magic, it was that faint; I just felt it, and thought it might be them, looking for us. It stopped when I asked you about it.
You broke my concentration, so it must have been me you sensed, she said with relief. Oh, good. I was just so cold and wet, and I didn't think it would do any harm to drive the water out of my clothes. You ought to do the same.
I can't, he said, in a very small voice.
She wasn't certain she heard him right. You can't? she replied, with astonishment. But—you made the boat practically fly! And I've seen you do so many other things! How can you—
'They don't teach boys to do small magics—or the ones they call 'small' magics, he told her ruefully. I'll tell you what, though—when you're soaking wet, those magics don't seem small. I'd give anything for a pair of dry socks.
She laughed; and was astonished to hear her own laughter. Well, in that case, you can give me something to eat and find a place to rest, and I'll see you get dry socks and dry everything else!
He turned back to look at her, surprise warring in his face with amusement. In that case, let me say that you are the most useful escape companion that anyone could ever ask for. Better even than a fully armed warrior—who would be just as helpless as me, and probably a lot more cross!
Unspoken were other thoughts, which she knew he had even though he was too tactful to say anything. Like Myre, he'd been certain that she would be more of a hindrance than a help; a rock tied about his neck and slowing him down.
She didn't mind now, though that would have hurt earlier. Now he knew better.
And so do I. And at that realization, her heart and spirits began to rise, just a little.
Lorryn found shelter under the wreck of a huge fallen tree. Tiny magics dried his clothing and pack, his bow and bowstring. Tiny magics dried the heaps of sodden leaves she piled up, so that they formed a warming cushion against the damp air and earth. Tiny magics kept the insects away, while Lorryn concentrated on searching the woods for hunters, both elven and animal.
Every exercise of her magics made her feel better. She was not as useless as Father had always claimed she was! She could think of solutions to some of their problems! Maybe she couldn't make a boat speed down the river at a breakneck pace, but she could keep Lorryn from catching cold and maybe getting so sick, he wouldn't be able to move! Elves didn't get ill, at least not very often, but humans did all the time, so Lorryn probably would.
She held a bit of bread in her hand and nibbled it slowly. This was slave-bread, heavy and dark, and not the white bread eaten by the masters. Myre ha
d said that was all to the good; she claimed that the slave-bread would make better field rations, that it was more nourishing, and that it would fill the stomach better. Maybe she was right; it certainly hadn't taken much of it to satisfy the ache in Rena's stomach, and she was finishing the piece Lorryn had broken off for her more out of sense of duty than out of hunger.
The thought of her former slave made her wince with guilt. Oh, Ancestors. Poor Myre. I hope they didn't catch her. I hope if they did, she has the wit to claim we coerced her into following him. Surely Myre, so clever, so resourceful, could come up with a way to explain herself! Hadn't she gotten herself out of every other predicament?
And surely, with two renegades to chase, her father's men would never bother with a mere slave… surely, surely…
Lorryn opened his eyes. I can't find anything out here except a pair of alicorns, he said, finally. 'They're young ones, so they shouldn't give us any trouble as long as we stay downwind of them.
Alicorns? she replied, her spirit shrinking a little again, despite her earlier burst of confidence. The stories she'd heard about how fierce the one-horned creatures were had given her nightmares, and the little tableau in the Portal-room in Lord Lyon's manor had only reinforced those stories. Aren't they supposed to be able to pick up the least little bit of scent?
But they're downwind of us, he assured her, and yawned hugely. And I—
He yawned again, and Rena saw with concern how exhausted and strained he looked. Had he slept any more than she had? Probably not.
Probably not for days.
Lorryn, we're safe enough here for the moment, aren't we? she asked, and at his cautious nod, continued. Well, why don't you rest? You did all that magic—then we've been walking for leagues.
He looked as if he would have liked to object, but a third yawn overcame him. I can't argue. We're warm and dry, and there's no place better to shelter than what we've got at the moment.
So rest, she urged. I can watch for trouble. I'll wake you at the least little hint of it
I'll just lean back and relax for a little, he said, putting his pack behind him and suiting his actions to his words. I won't sleep, I'll just rest a little.
He closed his eyes, and as Rena had suspected, in a moment he was sound asleep.
She smiled, and shook her head. How could he have thought he could go on without a rest?
Well, it doesn't matter. He's getting one now.
She looked over their primitive shelter and took a mental inventory of the materials at hand. If he slept right up until nightfall, could she improvise a better shelter out of sticks and leaves? She'd done things with flowers before—why not with leaves?
Experimentally, she took a leaf and sculpted it, retaining its water-resistant qualities while she spun it out into something a bit flatter and bigger. She took a second leaf, did the same, then tried to see if she could make the two join together.
To her delight, she could!
I can make a whole canopy of this leaf stuff, then get ordinary leaves to stick to the outside so that this will look like a place that's been covered with vines! she decided, enthusiastically. It will probably all wilt in a day or two, but by then, we'll be gone!
She gathered more leaves and began making her green fabric of them, fitting leaf to leaf to make a waterproof seal, keeping her concentration narrowed in a way she had never been able to achieve when she was just flower-sculpting. She had so much of her mind fixed to the task in her hands, in fact, that she ignored everything else.
Right up until the moment that a twig snapped and she looked up into the mad orange eyes of a white alicorn.
It snorted at her, close enough for her to smell its hot breath. She froze, holding her own breath.
The long, spiral horn rising from the middle of its forehead kept catching her attention as the alicorn watched her. It gleamed softly, a mother-of-pearl shaft that started out as thick as her own slender wrist and tapered to a wickedly sharp point. The eyes, an odd burnt-orange color, like bittersweet berries, were huge, the pupils dilated. The head was fundamentally the same shape as that of a graceful, dainty horse, but the eyes took up most of the space where brains should have been. An overlong, supple neck led down to muscular shoulders; the forelegs ended in something that was part cloven hoof, and part claw. The hindquarters were as powerful as the forequarters, with feet that were more hoof-like. A long, flowing mane, tiny chin-tuft, and tufted tail completed the beast, with one small detail—
Which the alicorn displayed as it lifted its lip to sniff her scent. Inch-long fangs graced that dainty mouth, giving the true picture of the beast's nature.
It was a killer. They all were. That was why the elves had given up the task of making them into beasts of burden or war-steeds.
In a moment it would charge her, unless she thought of some way of preventing it.
A crackling of brush made the first alicorn raise its head, but not with any alarm. In a moment, she saw why, as the alicorn was joined by its—her—mate.
Now there was more than double the danger. A mated pair tolerated nothing that might be a threat within their territory.
She couldn't move to wake Lorryn. She dared not move to take up a weapon herself. She had none of the greater magics—
—but perhaps… the lesser?
It was the only weapon in her pitiful arsenal, that knack with birds and animals. Tentatively she reached out to the alicorn with her power, using only the gentlest of touches.
I am your friend. I would never harm you. I have good things to eat, and I know where to scratch.
The alicorn flicked her ears, and her mate raised his head a little to peer more closely at her.
I am your friend. You want to be my friend,
The alicorn's hide shuddered, and Rena watched in hope and fear as a wave of relaxation made all of its muscles go a bit slack.
Come be my friends, both of you.
Her magic drifted into their minds, subtle, like a whisper, changing just a tiny thing—that killer instinct, the urge to destroy anything that might prove dangerous. Their minds weren't any smaller than a pigeon's or a sparrow's. There was something there to work on. She half-closed her eyes, watching both of them, as her magic wove its way into what they were, soothing the too sensitive nerves, calming the wash of instant and hot emotions.
The mare took a tentative step toward her, the stallion followed. Carefully Rena reached into the pack beside her, and took out another piece of bread, breaking it in half. They didn't react to her movement, except for a slightly nervous flicking of their ears.
I have good things to eat. She held out both hands, each with a piece of bread in the palm, invitingly. She'd never yet seen a horse that could resist bread.
The stallion's nostrils flared as he took in the scent of the bread, and he shouldered the mare aside, coming to the fore. His eyes fixed first on her, then on the bread in her outstretched hand.
I will make you more good things to eat. While she worked her magic in their minds to tame them, she could not work another spell, but if this actually succeeded, she would be able to turn plain grass and leaves into alicorn treats. That would be a reasonable recompense for what she wanted out of them.
Come to me, come help me, and I will give you sweet treats to eat. I will keep you warm and dry, and I know all the right places to scratch. Flies will never bite you again. She wasn't actually sending thoughts into its mind, nor could she sense its thoughts the way Lorryn could, but her magic carried the promises she made to it, and somehow made it understand.
That, and the tiny gentling changes she wrought, were all that was needed.
The alicorn stallion made up his mind—now that she had made it up for him. He stepped forward, briskly, the mare right at his heels, and walked calmly right up to the edge of the shelter. He bent his long neck, and accepted the morsel of bread from her hand, his nose soft and velvety against her palm, and only the barest hint of the sharpness of his fangs touching her skin. A
moment later, his mate did the same.
They both stood staring at her for a heartbeat or two longer, after the bread was gone. She could still lose them. They wouldn't attack her now, but she could still lose them. When she turned her magic loose, they could flee. Well, for that matter, they could simply walk away and she wouldn't be able to do a thing about it. Her magic just wasn't coercive; either they would serve her, or they would not.
She let go of their minds. She had done all that she could. If they were going to flee, they would do it now.
With a sigh, the stallion folded his long legs and lay down at her feet. The mare did the same, placing her head in Rena's lap. She looked up at Rena with eyes that were more brown now than orange, and she waited for Rena to make good on her promise of scratches.
Rena stretched out her hand and tentatively began to scratch the area at the base of the horn, reckoning that it was one place the alicorn couldn't reach for herself. The alicorn's coat was just as soft as it looked, much silkier than horsehair, though a bit longer as well. After a moment, the stallion stretched his head forward to get his own share of caresses.
When they both tired of having their horns, the area under their chins, and their ears scratched, Rena took leaves and began sculpting them, making them tender and enhancing the sugars in them. The alicorns accepted these new dainties with greed, eating until the area around the shelter had been denuded and their bellies were stuffed full.
Then they both laid their heads in Rena's lap again, and slept, one on either side of her, for all the world like a pair of huge homed pet hounds.
And when Lorryn woke, that was the sight that met his astonished eyes.
* * *
You're sure they'll bear us? Lorryn asked, dubiously. It was hard for him to even think of trusting an alicorn; their reputation was such that if he hadn't been too stunned to move, he'd have tried to kill both of these the moment he saw them. Only Rena's assurance that she had changed them made him—warily—trust them. After all, elven lords had tried for centuries to change the alicorns and make them useful, so how could Rena have done what they could not?