Yesterday's Kings

by Angus Wells

  Cullyn ducked his head. “Forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Eben returned cheerfully. “You’ve no more choice than I. But it does seem that you can make a decent breakfast. So shall we eat?”

  Cullyn nodded and prepared the food as Eben woke Laurens, checking the wound and dressing it afresh as the morning air filled with the tantalising odor of bacon. The fox came closer and Eben absently took a slice from the pan and threw it to the animal. The fox snatched it up, swallowed, and sat watching them.

  “This is a pleasant land,” Eben remarked. “Where else might you sit down to breakfast with a fox?”

  “Save you spoke of the fey houses fighting,” Laurens said. “Is it so different?”

  “Aye, there’s that.” Eben devoured bacon with gusto. “But perhaps the fey folk learned that from you Kandarians. They do live in concord with nature.”

  “And the lion shall lie down with the lamb,” Laurens said. “And all shall be tranquility—so long as the Church approves.”

  “And its followers observe its rules, yes,” Eben gave back. “The Church would rule, and set its own governance on kings and common folk.”

  “And there’s no Church here?”

  Eben shook his head. “The Durrym worship the old gods of tree and stone, of light and darkness.”

  “Which is much akin to us,” Laurens said. “Bel, the light-bringer; Dasc, the moon goddess; Thyriam of the trees … Where’s the difference?”

  “In thought,” Eben answered. “Kandarians think of their gods as allies, and the Church interprets the gods’ thoughts and therefore determines what they say: so that all the gods’ speaking comes from the Church.”

  “And here?”

  “They look at the land, and consider that not all the gods are benign. And choose which to follow and which to ignore.”

  “Can we ignore the gods?”

  “The Durrym do,” Eben said. “When it suits them.”

  Cullyn swallowed his last mouthful of bacon, quickly, and said, “They’re coming across the river!”

  Eben’s plate went scattering into the fire. The fox barked and darted away; the inquisitive deer fell back into the woodland.

  Across the Alagordar, Per Fendur led his troop to the ford. He wore armor black under the flowing robe that covered the plates, a dark presence amongst the sparkling accoutrements of Lord Bartram’s men.

  “You were on watch,” Laurens snarled. “What of your magic?”

  “I fell asleep.” Eben stretched his arms, rubbed his back. “I suppose we’d best leave now.”

  “So much for wizardry,” Laurens grunted.

  “I never thought …” Eben shook his head. “What power does he command, that he can find us?”

  Cullyn said, “I don’t know, but I think we’d best be on our way.”

  Fendur was into the river now, Amadis at his side; the squadron behind, armed with lances and bows. They came splashing across, bright water rising from the pounding hooves, the early sun glinting on their armor.

  Cullyn helped Laurens mount the bay, saw Eben clamber astride his mule, and swung onto Fey’s saddle.

  “Best we ride,” Eben shouted. “And fast!”

  “Where’s your magic?” Cullyn asked. “Can you not halt them?”

  “Lances and bows? No.” Eben dug his heels into the mule’s ribs and went off at a gallop.

  THIRTEEN

  THEY RODE HARD toward the rising sun, charging through woodland that disgorged startled animals at their coming. Most were ordinary—such creatures as Cullyn had seen daily across the mysterious river—but others were different. He saw birds decked in such plumage as he’d never seen before, and strange animals. There was a creature that seemed all fangs and claws, shaped like a ferret but several times a ferret’s size, that stood ripping at the carcass of some kind of deer—save it wore more antlers than any deer he’d ever seen. And there were others. A creature that looked like a wolf, but sounded like a sheep; a vastly horned bull, or cow—they went by too quickly to tell—that watched them from the shadows and ducked its massive head and bellowed a mournful cry.

  He paid them scant attention, intent only on following Eben and escaping Per Fendur.

  Fey could easily have run ahead, but Eben’s mule was not so fast and Laurens rode uncomfortably, clutching at his saddle and his wound as he followed the silver-haired man ever deeper into Coim’na Drhu. Cullyn rode after, wondering where they went, and into what?

  When he looked back, he could not see the pursuers. Trees stood in the way, great willows and alders giving way to drier woodland, beeches and oaks, birches and hazel, spreading in impossible confusion. Coim’na Drhu was a conundrum that he could not understand.

  Then they came to a glade where massive oaks gave way to tall beeches, and beyond that a steep-sided valley, its walls descending to a wide meadow through which ran a stream from which white horses drank, and cropped the grass. There were around twenty of them, a stallion and his herd. Save they were not like any horses Cullyn had seen, for they all bore a spiraled horn growing from between their ears. Which lifted as the refugees emerged from the treeline.

  The stallion shrilled a warning and ducked his horned head in challenge.

  Eben reined in, halting his mule at the rim of the slope. Cullyn heard Fey whinny an answering challenge and fought the stallion to a halt. Laurens stared at the spectacle, clutching his wounded side.

  “Unicorns,” Eben said. “Best be careful.”

  “Of horses?” Laurens asked.

  “Not just horses,” the old man returned. “Magical horses; fey animals. Are you virgin?”

  Laurens laughed, shaking his head. “At my age? I’d hope not.”

  “Nor I,” Eben replied, and looked to Cullyn. “And you?”

  Cullyn thought of Elvira and shook his head.

  “Then they’ll kill us if we approach.”

  “Horses?” Laurens asked.

  “Yes,” Eben gave back. “Do you understand nothing? We’ve come into a different world. The rules are not the same.”

  “And Per Fendur is on our heels,” Laurens said.

  “If we ride down there the unicorns will kill us. They’re savage beasts, the mares vicious as the stallions.”

  “So we’re caught.” Laurens rubbed at his side. “Fendur and Amadis behind us, unicorns to the fore. What do we do?”

  Eben said, “Either wait for them to finish grazing, or go around.”

  Laurens grunted irritably. “We may not have time to wait.”

  Cullyn glanced back and wondered if he saw the glint of mail and lance heads amongst the trees. He studied the valley—it was long and broad, and if they were to continue on the way Eben chose, they’d need to ride for leagues to pick up their path again.

  “How long might they graze?”

  Eben shrugged. “All day; a few more minutes. Who knows with unicorns? They’re unpredictable beasts.”

  As if in confirmation, the stallion shrilled another challenge and trotted a little way toward them. His ivory horn tossed a warning as he stamped the ground. The mares and foals looked up and moved to join him, presenting a threatening wall of horns that spread across their path. Eben motioned that they withdraw back into the treeline. Cullyn looked back again, and this time was sure that he saw sunlight shining on armor.

  “I think,” he said, “that we’ve not much time.”

  Eben and Laurens followed his gaze, and the wizard cursed as the jingle of saddle trappings tinkled through the woods.

  “Damn the priest!” Eben’s blue eyes narrowed irritably. “He’s even more talent than I thought.”

  “Can you not use magic?” Laurens asked.

  “Not here!” Eben glowered at the soldier as if Laurens were crazed. “We come clandestine, no? If I use magic, the Durrym will feel it, and come looking for us.”

  “But we’re looking for them,” Cullyn said.

  “Do you understand nothing?” Eben favored him with a stare that
reddened his cheeks. “We’re looking for this damned girl, yes. But she’s taken by Lofantyl, who’s Dur’em Shahn. This”—he gestured at the landscape—“is the domain of the Dur’em Zheit. Who are in contest with Isydrian and his Shahn. Are we taken by the Zheit, Pyris could likely order us all slain for spite alone.”

  “Why did I ever look to you for help?” Laurens muttered. “Better to have thrown ourselves on Bartram’s mercy.”

  Cullyn said, “We’d best decide what to do.”

  The jangle of armor drew closer. He could see shapes now, moving through the forest. His hunter’s eyes began to pick out distinctions. Per Fendur and Amadis were in the lead, moving slowly but nonetheless inexorably toward him. And still the wall of unicorns stood before; and the valley’s edge dropped steeply away, decked along all its flanks with trees and undergrowth that would inevitably slow their progress should they seek to skirt around. He believed that he could escape, mounted on Fey, but Laurens was wounded and Eben’s mule could never match the pace of the Kandarian horses. It seemed they must be caught.

  And then a pack of hounds exploded from the woodlands containing the farther edge of the valley. Cullyn had never seen such dogs. They were akin to wolfhounds, but heavier, more muscular, and taller. And they ran silently until they drew close to the herd of unicorns, and only then set to baying so that the horned horses turned to face them and drew their attention away from the three intruders.

  Cullyn watched in fascination as the hounds raced toward the white equines. They did not attack, but rather set to herding the mythical beasts, baying and snapping, so that the unicorns were directed to the north. He watched the horns thrust and the dogs dart away, never drawing quite close enough that horn or hoof could inflict damage. He heard Eben mutter, not knowing whether the wizard gave thanks or curses. But the unicorns were driven away, so he said: “Do we cross the valley now?”

  Eben looked back. “It’s likely our only chance. So, yes.”

  They went down the steep flank and were onto the gentler slopes as Per Fendur led his troop out from the trees. The priest shouted and urged his mount to a gallop. Amadis couched his lance and beckoned the troop to follow.

  They raced down the valley, and from out of the forest on the farther side there came a hunting party.

  There was, as best Cullyn could estimate, ten of them, armed with lances and bows. Their leader was a slender boy, who carried only a bow and a long knife. They wore such dress as did Lofantyl—motley tunics and breeches, high boots of soft leather, some caps that hid their hair.

  The boy-leader saw the three approaching riders and shouted something Cullyn could not hear. But he heard Eben’s foul curse.

  A rider raised a horn to his lips and blew a long call that brought the hounds back, off from the unicorns—which promptly swung around and set to chasing the dogs. And all became confusion.

  Per Fendur halted his charge; the fey folk grouped together, staring at the newcomers; Cullyn, Laurens, and Eben galloped toward them. The boy shouted something and the fey riders spread out, nocking arrows and lowering lances. The unicorns, driven by the baying hounds, charged onward as if they’d run down the fey folk. Cullyn wondered whether the lances and the readied arrows were directed at the horned horses or at them.

  Then Per Fendur raised his hands and mouthed a spell that sent a ball of bright fire hurtling after the escapees. Cullyn yelled a warning and Eben swung his mule aside and raised his own hands. The fireball swung away, exploding amongst the hunting party. There was a tremendous glow—as if the sun fell to earth—and a stench of burning that was accompanied by the screams of torched horses and men.

  Eben mouthed a fouler curse. “He’s even more power than I thought.”

  “I thought you knew Church magic,” Laurens gasped as the air filled with the stench of burning flesh.

  “As did I. But I underestimated him.” Eben raised his hands and wove patterns in the air. “And this is no place for Kandarian magic.”

  He shouted, and it was as if a gust of tremendous wind erupted from his mouth, blowing back Per Fendur’s firestorm as might a rain squall douse a blaze.

  Per Fendur shouted and urged his followers on. The unicorns swung away from the explosion, and the hounds—those that did not halt, stunned—went after them. Cullyn saw the boy tumble from his mount, into the path of the panicked unicorns. There were men fallen around him, and the fey horses fretted—those still standing—unnerved by the smell of scorched flesh.

  Cullyn did not think then, only reacted. He saw Eben mouthing words he could not hear and raising his hands again as Per Fendur sent a second fireball scorching through the air, and Amadis couched his lance and charged headlong down the slope with all the troops behind. And the unicorns thundered toward the dismounted boy with lowered horns, the stallion in the lead.

  Cullyn heeled Fey to a charge, hoping to intercept the unicorns’ attack. Fey was big enough he might deflect the white horse’s attack—smash the stallion aside before the spiral horn pierced the fallen boy. Perhaps Cullyn might lift him up and carry him away from the hoofs and horns. Or not; but he felt no choice and drew his knife—his only weapon.

  And then he saw the boy rise and snatch off his cap, and it was not a boy but a young woman, whose hair fell free as sunlight, flaxen and long. And she stood upright as the unicorn charged, and raised her arms and waited, as if welcoming her death. Cullyn urged Fey to an even faster pace.

  But the unicorn slowed its gallop, reared up, then came to the woman at a walk. Cullyn reined Fey in, gaping in amazement as the white horned horse knelt before the girl, who stroked its horn and spoke to it, and then looked irritably at Cullyn.

  “Who are you?”

  He gave her his name as the unicorn rose and tossed its head, urging her to stroke its mane.

  “And what do you here?”

  “Escape,” he said, still amazed. “My friends and I …”

  “From them?” She jutted her chin in the direction of Per Fendur. “Those who spoiled my hunt?”

  Cullyn nodded.

  “Garm’kes Lyn,” she said. “Like you.”

  Cullyn nodded again.

  “Why do you not leave us alone?” She stroked the unicorn as she spoke absently. “Why do you come across the Mys’enh?”

  “We had little choice,” he answered. “The priest would torture us, and slay us. So Eben brought us across the river.”

  “Eben?” He saw gray eyes set in a wide face above a large-lipped mouth open in surprise. He had thought Elvira pretty and Abra beautiful, but this fey woman was … He could not describe it. “You came here with Eben?”

  “And Laurens, who’s wounded.” He looked to his companions. They were halted amongst the fey folk, Eben tending those hurt by Per Fendur’s fireball.

  “And chased by a Garm priest?”

  Cullyn nodded, glancing back nervously to where Per Fendur and Amadis waited with their lance men. They had halted now and there seemed a kind of stalemate. Both parties stared at one another as the dogs sat panting and growling and the unicorns stood stamping warily.

  Then: “I am Lyandra of the Dur’em Zheit.”

  “I am Cullyn of Kandar.”

  “And you came to my aid—even though I didn’t need it.”

  “I didn’t know that,” he said. “Eben told me unicorns are vicious. Unless …” He broke off in embarrassment.

  “I am,” she said, staring at him defiantly. “I can command unicorns. The stallions, at least. They’re fun to hunt—even if we don’t kill them, they give us a good run. And the mares would horn me without a thought.”

  She turned to the stallion and whispered in its ear. It rose and trotted away, shrilling a call that gathered the herd. Lyandra shouted to her followers; she had a surprisingly loud voice, that saw all her surviving men mounted and readied for attack as the unicorn stallion gathered his herd and faced Per Fendur’s men.

  “I do not like you Garm,” she said, “but even so, I think I like this pr
iest less. So shall we drive him off?”

  Her smile was like the sun rising. Cullyn offered her a hand and swung her behind him on the saddle. She shouted orders at her followers and a line of men and unicorns loped toward Per Fendur and Amadis.

  It was pleasant to feel her hands about his waist. Better to see Per Fendur retreat as unicorns and armed folk charged toward them. Arrows flew over the cresting horns, and more than a few of the Kandarians were plucked by the shafts. He saw Per Fendur wave a hand, indicating retreat, as the wave of white horned horses charged toward him, followed by the Durrym, whose bows kept up a steady wave of arrows. He looked about and saw Laurens and Eben riding with them, albeit slower, as they drove Per Fendur and Amadis and all their troops back to the treeline, back over the ridge, and then toward the Alagordar.

  More than one soldier was plucked from his horse by the unicorns, more still shafted by Durrym arrows as the great dogs snapped and bayed about the horses’ heels. Then Lyandra raised a silver horn from her belt and blew a long, shrill call. The unicorns and the men ceased their pursuit and returned to the valley. The hounds went on baying as Cullyn halted Fey on the ridge.

  “The dogs shall chase them off,” Lyandra declared. “So you’re safe for now—if you explain properly why you came here with Eben.”

  He looked down at her and said, “We came after Abra.”

  “The Garm who was taken by Lofantyl?”

  Cullyn nodded and Lyandra threw back her head and laughed. Then called for a horse. “This,” she said, grinning, “will fascinate my father.” She swung astride the saddle. “I must take you to meet him. You and Eben, both.”

  Cullyn was not sure what to make of her glee until they rode down the slope to where Eben and Laurens waited, escorted by two of Lyandra’s men.

  Eben turned to Laurens and said, “As you told it—from frying pan to fire. And all because he’s syn’qui.”

  “Syn’qui?” Lyandra’s gray eyes darted from Eben to Cullyn.

  The wizard shrugged and ducked his head. “Indeed—for my misfortune. Better I’d never met him, but—”