"It may be. Yes. Don't look at me like that. I plan to return it to the beast!"
"The unicorn? Why?"
"Not your concern."
"You've plans to use it? How? And don't you dare say— This is my concern!"
Gossamyr swung up her staff, preparing to catch him under the chin, but Ulrich slapped his palm across the end of the stick. His boldness raised her ire. How dare this pitiful mortal handle the alicorn!
"Very well." He held the alicorn like a sword. It peeked from the black cloth, threatening with its beauty. "It is legend the one who returns the alicorn to its rightful owner is in return granted one wish. I need that wish, and I will have it."
"To bring life to your dead damsel?"
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"You are most perceptive."
"It is a cruel magic you seek to employ. I will not have it!"
"It is not your place to have it or not to have it. The alicorn is mine, paid for with real coin—coin that does not disperse to dust."
"It belongs to no man! Least of all no mortal man."
"I told you I intend to return it."
"For your own gain!"
Ulrich tipped the air with the horn. "Yes, my gain. But tell me how else this thing will ever find its way back to the unicorn. If I simply succumbed to evil and let it ride off with the prize it would never again see the unicorn. Someone has to bring it to the beast. That someone will be me."
"Oh? And where do you plan to find a unicorn? And a hornless one at that!"
"I am.. .following my heart."
Gossamyr snorted. The man actually bristled. He had no right to take offense!
"It is a real feeling I have had ever since taking claim to the alicorn. I am being led. And so I follow."
"To Paris?"
"Indeed. So, if you wish to keep an eye on the thing then remain by my side. But I promise a fight should you even consider taking it from me."
"I would not touch the alicorn if the only other option were facing a throng of revenants." Only the pure of heart could press flesh to the alicorn and not suffer burns or great calamity. Everyone knew that!
"Well then, your argument fades. Shall we be off?"
Such dread filled her gut, completely opposite, Gossamyr felt, of how she should feel to be in the presence of the sacred horn. The song of the alicorn was muted, wrapped within the black cloth. Wicked portents caressed her bones. Evil wants it?
"Keep it tucked away."
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"Trust me, I will. But it will matter little; evil will find us."
"Evil..." Gossamyr was suddenly struck by a realization. But of course—it must be! "You say you follow your heart?"
"Yes, a calling; as if I am being led."
"Why Paris? The mortal city is as far from Faery as one can possibly travel. Certainly no place for a unicorn."
"As I said, I am merely following my instincts. I sense that is where my troubles will find relief. So Paris it is."
Instincts? / am being led. Could the Red Lady be luring Ulrich to Paris? It made sense. Because a unicorn in the great city of Disenchantment defied all logic.
Gossamyr paced, her eye keen upon the wrapped horn in Ul-rich's grip. Suddenly the lightness of this mortal air had been stirred to a wicked simmer of intrigue and confusion. From the moment she had set foot on the Otherside Ulrich had been impossible to shrug off. Had her original instincts been true? Did he accompany her for a purpose?
Had some part of Faery known what he carried in the tattered saddlebag? And so the enchanted wood would not have allowed her to march off alone, but to accompany the one thing that could restore Enchantment complete to Faery.
"The alicorn is the key," she said.
Swiping a hand across his dirt-smeared face, Ulrich stared at Gossamyr. He handled the horn with such disregard. Impossible that he knew its true power. Mayhap that was a boon, for in the hands of the unknowing the alicorn could be little more than a nuisance—which stirs up evil.
Wherever I go, eviljollows. And evil wants it.
It seduced all far and wide. So why had she not sensed it? So close for two days and not even a hint of the Enchantment within a stride? To think on it overmuch troubled. Time—her mortal enemy—would not allow more than reaction.
Gossamyr retrieved her staff, and with a glance to the prone
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men, then scanned for the mounts. Both chargers and her palfrey galloped toward the horizon. "Isn't that some luck?" She patted Fancy's saddlebags. Briefly she sought for something, a vibration, some call from the contents. Nothing. "We are in this together now. She knows."
"We are? Wh-who knows?"
"The Red Lady. I believe she entices thee toward Paris. An al-icorn in the hands of that woman would prove chaos."
"You mean I'm being led to Paris by—by evil?"
"You said so yourself."
"But I thought.. .well, I assumed... By the same red woman who has been sucking the innards from your rogue faery men? Let's turn around. I'd prefer to keep my insides intact, if you don't mind."
"You told me you followed an instinct. That you can think only to travel to Paris."
"Indeed." Fingers to chin in thought, his eyes darted furiously across the ground. Fear brightened the blue to overwhelm the white. Gossamyr could verily scent his distraction, taste the fear brewing out from his every breath. "So we were meant to travel together?"
"It may have been Enchanted, the forest."
"That must be it!" Spinning into a grand gesture, arms punching the air and head tilted back, Ulrich ended with a stomp and a splay of arms before her. "A man mustn't question destiny. We were meant to come together."
"I knew nothing of the contraband alicorn you carry when we first met. Which begs to wonder now why you were so eager to remain with me."
"Truth?" Ulrich shrugged. "When I thought you were a faery I couldn't summon a better traveling companion. If there is a unicorn in seek of its horn surely an enchanted being will attract it more quickly than a mere mortal."
"I cannot believe you simply intended to ride about Paris until your path crosses with the unicorn."
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"Dangling my half faery as bait."
She sneered at him. To be called bait made her feel low as a slithering insect. He said it in jest, surely. On the other hand, he held no fealty to her or Faery. He simply sought his own means, with no regard for her fate. Not an ally.
"Is there a simpler way to call the beast to my side? I forgot my virginal maiden at home." He swallowed. All angles on his face fell and tightened with a quickening grimace. "Rhiana, she died a cruel death."
A name? Yet another truth from the man's past. But such information softened Gossamyr's stern need to push away the mortal who held Enchantment hostage. "I am sorry for your loss."
He splayed a sweeping hand through the air in a lost gesture, ending it with a powerful punch. "Every road I take I meet a bad thing that wants to crush my skull and make off with the alicorn. And you've been little help thus far."
"Me? I've— I have fended off two attacks, you thankless bit of...!" No, she did not wish to name him ill. Heavy, his heart. It was a familiar sensation. Gossamyr recalled the time Shinn had mourned Veridienne's absence. Yet, her father remained morose and stern. Had Ulrich lost a wife?
"I could have protected myself." He brandished the arrowless crossbow. Gossamyr shoved it from her peripheral view.
She blew out a disgusted breath and pounded the ground with her staff. "I'd walk away from you right now if I did not think the wiser."
"And what holds you here? Be gone with you!"
"What keeps me at your side is the alicorn, and the knowledge it may well fall into the hands of a vicious succubus. And wish you to believe a mere fee would have attracted the unicorn to the alicorn, imagine then what the Red Lady might do. Go ahead. Imagine it. Right now. I'll wait." She slammed her arms across her chest.
The enormity of the
situation must be dealt with. For if they
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carried a lure for evil, their journey to Paris could only grow more perilous.
"I have no idea, Faery Not," Ulrich snapped. "I have little knowledge of this red lady. Is she queen supreme of the Faery realm? Does she possess powers untold?"
"She hails from the Netherdred and was banished for crimes to which I am not privy. The essences she steals feed her glamour, keeping the Disenchantment at bay."
"There is that word again: Netherdred," Ulrich said. "Just what horrors should I conjure to match that?"
"The Netherdred are a tribe of fee who inhabit the borders of Faery. Said borders surrounding any major mortal city, such as Paris; Enchantment cannot exist in such densely populated mortal lands. They are the outcast, the rogues and thieves of Faery."
"I see." Approaching with finger to chin, he disregarded his plea for propriety and stepped right up to Gossamyr. Blue eyes darted about her face. A smile started, then fled, then burst into fullness. "And what be you?"
"Tribe Glamoursiege." Tugging up her tucked skirt, she tilted the crest attached at her hip to display the coat of arms.
"Ah." He perused the applewood sigil. His fingers moved over the raised carvings, once brushing her hip so briefly, the shimmer of mortal touched but singed. "Wings and a sword."
"Wrapped by holly. We are peaceable now."
Ulrich nodded and straightened. He touched her more frequently, and with an ease that should be reserved for mates.
"There are others: the Wisogoths, Merovech, Mer-de-Soleil."
"Small cities within Faerv?"
"Of a sort."
With a twist of his feet he began to pace a circle, arms clasped across his chest and all focus on her. Ever moving, the man possessed an energy that appealed. It had been a time since Gossamyr had commanded a man's attention. And for as many tears she had
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cried, and had then sworn to never open her heart again, it was difficult not to react to the flutter of interest that tickled her belly.
"So the red lady rules the Netherdreds?" Ulrich asked.
"No. Since Banishment she is no longer a part of Faery, yet— according to Shinn—she ever attempts to return. The essences, as I've explained."
"Indeed. And essences are like our mortal souls. Wait right there—faeries don't have souls, everyone knows that."
"They do, too."
"Do not." A forceful fist pounded the air above his head. "Faeries are heartless and cruel and lack emotion and they are nothing but tricksters!"
"They do not lack emotion!"
A grin slid onto Ulrich's lips. "Well, I'll give you that."
"What?"
"You finally rose to the bait, Faery Not. So maybe you do have a little mortal in there somewhere. You anger easily enough."
And what was that about? She was not quick to anger. Just moments ago she had been near to mooning over the man's fierce blue gaze. Blight, but the introduction of the alicorn had twisted her from sorts. "The fee do have souls—rather, they are essences—and it is their essences the Red Lady steals."
"Before or after their death? Have you figured that?"
"It can only be after their death. We saw the red essence in the last village."
"Yes, and then that.. .thing."
"Following the Red Lady's kiss the fee become deathless revenants, unable to incite the final twinclian until they claim an essence."
"Do you think that man with the pins stole the essence?"
"You saw, as did I, the thing he speared onto his pin. It was the essence."
"Mayhap he brings the pinned essence to this red lady. What does she do with them?"
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"I know naught, but I will learn, right before I take her out. Now—" she leaped astride Fancy "—mount behind me and let's be off. There is little time for chatter."
"As my lady commands of me, so shall I follow."
With little room for the two of them, Ulrich sat close, propping his palms upon her hips, but not holding firmly. Gossamyr reined Fancy onward. She felt a solid warmth against her shoulders and guessed Ulrich had laid down his forehead. A heavy sigh preceded his weary question, "Can she take a mortal man's soul?"
"I know little more than you do, Ulrich."
"Fair enough."
He lifted his head. Their contact, so brief, quieted the deep hum of worry.
"So no more lies," he murmured.
"All truths are out."
"They are? So say you?"
"Yes,"all truth."'
"Well then! Obviously we both need each other."
"I don't need you."
"Oh, yes you do. You just don't know it yet. You watch, you will need me, Faery—"
"Gossamyr, please," she entreated.
He could be right. She may need him. She may not. Right now the alicorn needed her. Since she was headed the Red Lady's di-rection anyway...
"So we continue on together?"
"I'd say I was delighted," Ulrich said, "but for some reason I can only feel foreboding. Onward then. Mayhem awaits."
TEN
Paris looked a pincushion for the fleched stone church spires piercing die gray afternoon. Dozens of windmills dotted the periphery outside the stone ramparts, the creak of sundried wood competing with the chirp of hidden crickets. Not a frog song to be heard; Gossamyr missed the evening concerts. What a perfect ending to a day to find oneself dangling upside down, knees hooked over a root, and whistling to the tune of a frog symphony.
A strange croaky rumble, unfamiliar to Gossamyr, wavered somewhere off by the stream. That be not a frog.
A fine mist fell upon her head, raindrops bejeweling the interlocked ropes of her plaited tresses. Fancy's mane, dressed in round droplets, rendered the beast Enchanted. A storm brewed in the heady miasma crowding her nostrils. Gossamyr could not judge when it would fall. She had not learned to portend the weather. But here in the Otherside the heavy future of rain tingled her to an anticipatory expectation. So familiar this air. Yet she had not skipped since yestereve. Far too occupied by threats. And happy to do so.
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The click of a wood beetle brought her to alert.
Standing upon a hill, Gossamyr observed the distant crowd hovering about the gates to the city. Not a quiet bunch. Shouts of declaration and good-natured tussle spiked the sky. Eyes, some alert, most tired, darted here and there. Mules broke rein and kicked up the dirt. Children wailed from their aching bellies, and dogs barked at everything that moved.
"We must be cautious," Ulrich said. He waited at Fancy's side for Gossamyr to venture onward. "The Armagnacs stalk travelers to the city."
That curious word again. "You said they were Frenchmen? Be they enemy or ally?"
"I'd like to call them enemy but they appear to side with our dethroned king. Yet they kill their own to gain control over the Burgundians."
"And what is a Burgundian?"
"Northerners; vulgar, stupid beasts—Frenchmen, as well. And then there are the English—" he reached around behind his thigh and waggled a finger in display "—drunks with tails, they are. Hell, this war is a farce. Methinks it is every man for himself. A woman must be most cautious."
"I will be."
"Your pretty stick will serve little against a gang of bloodthirsty Frenchmen. Best to now consider every man our enemy. These are impossible times." He scanned the horizon. "But you mustn't judge by what you have seen. There is goodness. Somewhere, surely."
"Yes, in the eyes of a child," she answered rotely. For she remembered yet the dirty grin of the village child who had smiled upon her earlier.
"Come." Ulrich slapped Fancy's flank to stir the mule to a walk. "We will stop at the water mill at the base of the hill before moving to the gates. See there, a convoy of carts approaches. Likely
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they carry provisions such as flour and weapons—open game to marauders. Be on your gu
ard."
"I will."
The decimated water mill had seen better days. Planks had been torn from the wall frame, rendering it a skeleton with a massive grindstone for a heart. The water wheel looked to be lodged in hardened mud. Faint scent of milled flour hung in the air, and the surrounding trampled grass was matted with gray powder. View of the Porte St. Jacques was sheltered by a line of stacked hay piled so high Gossamyr guessed a spry goat must have laid the last bits to the top.
"Refreshment?" Ulrich winked at Gossamyr and tramped around behind the mill.
A crystal stream but four strides in width beckoned both travelers and their mule. Marching ahead, Ulrich noted the fetch, which fluttered overhead. It dodged and swooped, teasing the last rays of sun with iridescent wings. "That dragonfly is huge!"
"It is my father's fetch."
He followed the fetch's flight, hand to his eyes to block the sun. "A means to keep an eye on you?"
"Indeed. You mustn't heed it. It comes and goes as needed."
"So long as it has no intention of attacking."
"Worry not. The fetch is merely an instrument."
Squatting near the massive wood wheel that once moved with the water to grind flour, Ulrich cupped water to drink and splashed his face and hair, though his eyes took in the surroundings, ever vigilant. Content, he swiped the moisture from his chin and smiled over at Gossamyr. The road dust and grime had been washed from his face. 'Twas the first time she had seen him looking so clean.
Keeping her own vigilant scan of their surroundings, Gossamyr pricked her ears, but could not hear any brigands who waited before the gate to Paris. Assuming such an attack would first stir a warning noise, Gossamyr relaxed.
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Kneeling to stir her fingers in the cool water, she cupped a few palmfuls to drink. Sweet, finer than honey wine.
"So what—" A croak like she had heard previous would not go unnoticed. Gossamyr turned her head to seek the noise. "What, by an elf's twelve toes, is that horrible noise?"
"Frogs." Ulrich leaned back and spewed out a spray of water, misting their heads.
"Frogs?" Gossamyr searched the sky and the darkening shadows of a nearby apple tree for a fat amphibian. "Where?"
"Why do you look up there?"
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