The new day did not find Ben Holiday standing about the gates of Sterling Silver with his nose pressed up against the timbers as might have been expected. It found him hiking his way south into the lake country. He walked quickly and purposefully. By the time the sun had crested the rim of the valley east above the mists and tree line, he was already half-a-dozen miles into his journey and determined to complete at least a dozen more before the day was finished.
The decision to leave had not been an easy one. It had taken him a long time to make it. He had sat out there in the dark and the chill, staring back at the lights of the castle and wondering what had hit him, so stunned he didn't even move for the first half hour; he just sat there. His emotions ran the gamut from shock to fear to anger and back again. It was like a bad dream from which you are certain you will escape — even after the time for escape is long past. He recounted the events of the night over and over again in his mind, trying to construct some rational explanation for their being, to discover some purpose to their order. He failed. It all came down to the same thing — Meeks was in and he was out.
It was with a sense of desperation that he finally acknowledged that what had happened to him was for real. He had given up a life and a world that were familiar and safe to come into Landover; he had risked losing everything he had on the chance that he would find something better. Obstacles had confronted him at every turn, but he had overcome them. He had gained in reality what most found only in dreams. Now, just when he had begun to feel comfortable with what he had, just when it seemed the worst was past, everything he had struggled so hard to find had been snatched away from him, and he was faced with the distinct possibility that he would end up losing it all.
It wasn't possible. It wasn't fair.
But it was a fact, and he hadn't been a successful trial lawyer for all those years in the old world by avoiding the reality of facts. So he choked down his desperation, got over being too stunned to move, swept away the anger and the fear, and forced himself to deal with his situation. His repeated replays of what had happened to him failed to yield the information he might have wished. Meeks had tricked him into returning to the old world, and he had carried the wizard back with him into Landover. Meeks had done that by sending him a false dream about Miles. But Meeks had also sent the dreams of the missing books of magic and the black unicorn to Questor Thews and Willow. Why had he done that? There had to be a reason. The dreams were all tied together in some way; Ben was certain of it. He was certain as well that something had forced Meeks to choose this particular time to return to Landover. His diatribe in the bedchamber had made that clear. In some way Ben had messed up his plans — and it was more than simply the thwarting of the wizard's sale of the throne of Landover to others or the exiling of the wizard from his home world. It was something else — something of far greater importance to Meeks. The wizard's anger at Ben was fueled by events and circumstances that Ben hadn't yet uncovered. They had compelled Meeks to return — almost out of desperation.
But Ben had no idea why.
He did know that, despite what should have been adequate provocation, Meeks hadn't killed him when he could have. That was puzzling. Clearly Meeks hated him enough to want him to suffer awhile as an outcast, but wasn't it a bit risky letting him wander around loose? Sooner or later someone was going to see through the deception and recognize the truth of things. Meeks could not assume his identity and Ben remain a stranger to everyone indefinitely. There had to be some way to counter the magic of that vile amulet Meeks had stuck him with, and he would surely search it out eventually. On the other hand, maybe what he accomplished in the long run didn't matter. Perhaps time was something he didn't have. Maybe the game would be over for him before he understood all the rules.
The possibility terrified him. It meant he had to act quickly if he didn't want to risk losing the chance of acting at all. But what should he do? He had stared back across the lake at the dark shape of the castle and reasoned it through. He was wasting his time here where he was a stranger to everyone — even to his closest friends. If neither Questor nor Bunion recognized him, there was little chance anyone else at Sterling Silver would. Meeks was King of Landover for the moment; he would have to concede that much. It grated on him like sand rubbed on raw flesh, but there was nothing to be done about it. Meeks was Ben — and Ben himself was some fellow who had slipped uninvited into the castle and tried to cause trouble. If he attempted to break in a second time, he would undoubtedly wind up in worse shape than he was in now.
Maybe Meeks was hoping for that. Maybe he was expecting it. Ben did not want to chance it.
Besides, there were better alternatives to choose from. Admittedly he did not know exactly what Meeks was about, but he knew enough to know how to cause the wizard problems if he could act fast enough. Meeks had sent three dreams, and two of them had already served their purposes. Meeks had regained entry into Landover through Ben, and he had used Questor to bring him the missing books of magic. Make no mistake, Ben admonished himself — Meeks had those books by now as surely as the sun would rise in the east. That left only the third dream to be satisfied — the dream sent to Willow of the black unicorn. Meeks was looking for something from that third dream as well; he had let a hint of it slip in his anger. He was looking for the golden bridle that would harness the black unicorn and he fully expected Willow to bring it to him. And why shouldn't she, after all? The dream had warned her that the unicorn was a threat to her, that the bridle was the only thing that would protect her, and that she must bring the bridle to Ben. That was exactly what she would think she was doing, of course, once she found the bridle — except that it would be Meeks disguised as Ben who would be waiting to greet her. But if Ben could reach the sylph first, he could prevent that from happening. He could warn Willow, and perhaps the two of them could discover the importance of the bridle and the unicorn to the wizard and throw a monkey wrench into his plans.
So off Ben went, heading south, the difficult decision made. It meant forgoing his responsibilities as King of Landover and conceding those responsibilities to Meeks. It meant abandoning the problems of the judiciary council, the irrigation fields south of Waymark, the always-impatient Lords of the Greensward, the tax levy, and all the others who still waited for an audience with Landover's High Lord. Meeks could act in his place with impunity in the days ahead — or fail to act, as the case might be. It meant abandoning Sterling Silver and leaving his friends, Questor, Abernathy, and the kobolds. He felt like a traitor and a coward going this way. A part of him demanded that he stay and fight. But Willow came first. He had to find her and warn her. Once that was accomplished, he could turn his attention to exposing Meeks and setting things right.
Unfortunately, finding Willow would not be easy. He was traveling down into the lake country because that was where Willow had said she would go to begin her search for the unicorn and the golden bridle. But Willow had been gone almost a week, and that search might have taken her anywhere by now. Ben would appear a stranger to everyone, so he could not trade on his position as Landover's King to demand help. He might be ignored totally or not even be allowed into the lake country. If that happened, he was in trouble.
On the other hand, it was difficult to imagine being in worse trouble than he was in already.
He walked all that day, feeling better about himself as he went, for no better reason than the fact that he was doing something positive and not simply sitting around. He wound his way southward out of the lightly forested hill country around his island home into the more densely grown woods that comprised the domain of the River Master. The hills smoothed to grasslands, then thickened to woods damp with moisture and heavy with shadow. Lakes began to dot the countryside, some no larger than marshy ponds, some so vast they stretched away into mist. Trees canopied and closed about, and the smell of damp permeated the failing light. A stillness settled down about the land as dusk neared, then began to fill slowly with night sounds.
Ben found a clearing by a stream feeding down out of the distant hills and made his camp. It was a short project. He had no blankets or food, so he had to content himself with the leaves and branches from a stand of Bonnie Blues and the spring water. The fare was filling, but hardly satisfying. He kept thinking that something was moving in the shadows, watching him. Had the lake country people discovered him? But no one showed. He was quite alone.
Being so alone eroded his confidence. He was all but helpless when you got right down to it. He had lost his castle, his knights, his identity, his authority, his title, and his friends. Worst of all, he had lost the medallion. Without the medallion, he did not have the protection of the Paladin. He was left with only himself to rely upon, and that was precious little against the dangers posed by Landover's denizens and their mercurial forms of magic. He had been lucky to survive his arrival in Landover when he had enjoyed the benefit of the medallion's protection. What was he to do now without it?
He stared off into the dark, finding the answers as elusive as the night's shadows. What distressed him most was the fact that he had lost the medallion to Meeks. He could not figure out for the life of him how that could have happened. No one was supposed to be able to take the medallion from him. That meant he must have given it over willingly. But how had Meeks compelled him to do something so stupid?
He finished his meager dinner and was still brooding over the turn of events that had brought him to this sorry state when he saw the cat.
The cat was sitting at the edge of the clearing, perhaps a dozen feet or so away, watching him. Ben had no idea how long the cat had been there. He hadn't seen it until now, but it was keeping perfectly still, so it might have been occupying that same spot for some time. The cat's eyes gleamed emerald in the moonlight. Its coat was silver-gray except for black paws, face, and tail. It was a slender, delicate thing — seemingly out of place in the forest wild. It had the look of a strayed house pet.
"Hello, cat," Ben ventured with a wry smile.
"Hello, yourself," the cat replied.
Ben stared, certain that he must not have heard correctly. Had the cat spoken? He straightened. "Did you say something?" he asked cautiously.
The cat's gleaming eyes blinked once and fixed on him, but the cat said nothing. Ben waited a few moments, then leaned back again on his elbows. It wasn't as if it were surprising to imagine that the cat might have said something, he told himself. After all, the dragon Strabo spoke; and if a dragon could speak, why not a cat?
"Too bad you can't talk," he muttered, thinking it would be nice to share his misery with someone.
The night brought a chill with it, and he shivered briefly in the rough work clothes. He wished he had a blanket or a fire to help ward off the damp; or better, that he were back in his own bed at the castle.
He glanced over again at the cat. The cat hadn't moved. It simply sat there, staring back at him. Ben frowned. The cat's steady gaze was a bit unnerving. What was a cat doing out here in the woods alone like this anyway? Didn't it have a home? The emerald eyes gleamed brightly. They were sharp and insistent. Ben shifted his own gaze to the shadowed woods. He wondered again how he was going to find Willow. He would need help from the River Master and he hadn't the foggiest idea as to how he would convince that being of his true identity. His fingers brushed the tarnished medallion that hung about his neck, tracing the outline of Meeks. The medallion certainly wouldn't be of any help.
"Maybe the River Master's magic will help him recognize me," he thought aloud.
"I wouldn't count on it, if I were you," someone replied.
He started and looked quickly in the direction of the speaker. There was no one there but the cat.
Ben's eyes narrowed. "I heard you that time!" he snapped, irritated enough that he didn't care how foolish he sounded. "You can speak, can't you?"
The cat blinked and answered. "I can when it pleases me."
Ben fought to regain his composure. "I see. Well, you might at least have the courtesy to announce the fact instead of playing games with people."
"Courtesy has nothing to do with the matter, High Lord Ben Holiday. Playing games is a way of life with cats. We tease, we taunt, and we do exactly as we please, not as others would have us do. Playing games is an integral part of our personae. Those who wish to have any sort of relationship with us must expect as much. They must understand that participation in our games is necessary if they wish communication on any level."
Ben stared at the cat. "How do you know who I am?" he asked finally.
"Who else would you be but who you are?" the cat replied.
Ben had to stop and think that one through a minute. "Well, no one," he said finally. "But how is it that you can recognize me when no one else can? Don't I look like someone else to you?"
The cat lifted one dainty paw and washed it lovingly. "Who you look like counts for little with me," the cat said. "Appearances are deceiving, and who you look like might not be who you really are. I never rely on appearances. Cats can appear as they choose. Cats are masters of deception and masters of an art cannot be deceived by anyone. I see you for who you really are, not who you appear to be. I have no idea if how you appear just now is how you really are."
"Well, it isn't."
"Whatever you say. I do know that however you might appear, you are in any case Ben Holiday, High Lord of Landover."
Ben was silent a moment, trying to decide just what it was he was dealing with here, wondering where on earth this creature had come from.
"So you know who I am in spite of the magic that disguises me?" he concluded. "The magic doesn't fool you?"
The cat studied him a moment, then cocked its head, reflecting. "The magic wouldn't fool you either, if you didn't let it."
Ben frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"Much and little. Deception is mostly a game we play with ourselves."
The conversation was turning a bit oblique. Ben sat back wearily. "Who are you, Mr. Cat?" he asked.
The cat stood up and came forward a few feet, then sat back down again, prim and sleek. "I am a great many things, my dear High Lord. I am what you see and what you don't. I am real and imagined. I am something from the life you have known and something from dreams of life you have not yet enjoyed. I am quite an anomaly, really."
"Very insightful," Ben grunted. "Could you be a bit more precise, perhaps?"
The cat blinked. "Certainly. Watch this."
The cat shimmered suddenly in the dark, glowing as if radioactive, and the sleek body seemed to alter shape. Ben squinted until his eyes closed, then looked again. The cat had grown. It was four times the size it had been, and it was no longer just a cat. It had assumed a slightly human face beneath cat's ears, whiskers, nose and fur, and its paws had become fingers. It swished its tail expectantly as it stared at him.
Ben started half-a-dozen questions and gave up. "You must be a fairy creature," he said finally.
The cat grinned — an almost-human grin. "Exactly so! Very well reasoned, High Lord!"
"Thank you so much. Would you mind awfully telling me what sort of fairy creature you are?"
"What sort? Well, um... hmmmmm. I am a prism cat."
"And what is that?"
The grin disappeared. "Oh, I don't think I can explain it — not even if I wanted to, which I really don't. It wouldn't help you to know anyway, High Lord. You wouldn't understand, being human. I will tell you this. I am a very old and very rare sort of cat. I am but one of just a few still remaining. We were always a select breed and did not propagate the species in the manner of common animals. It is that way with fairy creatures — you have been told this, haven't you? No? Well, it is that way. Prism cats are rare. We must spread ourselves quite thin to accomplish our purposes."
"And what purpose is it that you are trying to accomplish here?" Ben asked, still trying to make some sense out of all the verbiage.
The cat flicked its tail idly. "That depends."
"Depends on what?"
"Oh you. On your... intrinsic self-worth."
Ben stared at the cat wordlessly. Things were becoming a bit too muddled for him to stay with this conversation. He had been assaulted in his own home and bounced out like a stranger. He had lost his identity. He had lost his friends. He was cold and he was hungry. He felt as if any intrinsic self-worth he might possess rated just about zero.
The cat stirred slightly. "I am deciding whether or not I shall be your companion for a time," the creature announced.
Ben grinned faintly. "My companion?"
"Yes. You certainly need one. You don't see yourself to be who you really are. Neither does anyone else, apparently, save for me. This intrigues me. I may decide to stay with you long enough to see how it all turns out for you."
Ben was incredulous. "Well, I'll say one thing for you. You're a different sort — whether cat, human, fairy, or whatever. But maybe you'd better think twice about sticking with me. You might be letting yourself in for more than you can handle."
"Oh, I rather doubt that," the cat replied. "I seldom encounter anything that difficult these days."
"Is that so?" Ben's patience slipped a notch. This cat was insufferable! He hunched closer to the prim creature. "Well, try this on for size, Mr. Cat. What if I were to tell you that there is a wizard named Meeks who has stolen my identity, my throne, and my life and consigned me to exile in my own land? What if I were to tell you that I intend to get all of that back from him, but that to do so I need to find a sylph who in turn searches for a black unicorn? And what if I were to tell you that there is every chance that I — and anyone brash enough to offer to help me in this endeavor — will be disposed of most unpleasantly if found out?"
The cat said nothing. It simply sat there as if considering. Ben leaned back, both satisfied and disgusted with himself. Sure, he could congratulate himself for having laid all of his cards on the table and setting the cat straight. But he had also just destroyed the one chance he might have had of finding someone to help him. You can't have it both ways, he admonished himself.
But the cat seemed unperturbed. "Cats are not easily discouraged once they have decided on something, you know. Cats are quite independent in their behavioral patterns and cannot be cajoled or frightened. I fail to see why you bother trying such tactics with me, High Lord."
Ben sighed. "I apologize. I just thought you ought to know how matters stand."
The cat stood up and arched its back. "I know exactly how matters stand. You are the one who is deceived. But deception needs only to be recognized to be banished. You have that in common with the black unicorn, I think."
Once more, Ben was surprised. He frowned. "You know of the black unicorn? There really is such a creature?"
The cat looked disgusted. "You search for it, don't you?"
"For the sylph more than the unicorn," Ben answered hastily. "She had a dream of the creature and of a bridle of spun gold that would hold it; she left to search for both." He hesitated, then plunged ahead. "The dream of the unicorn was sent by the wizard. He sent other dreams as well — to me and to Questor Thews, another wizard, his half-brother. I think that in some way the dreams are all tied together. I am afraid that Willow — the sylph — is in danger. If I can reach her before the wizard Meeks..."
"Certainly, certainly," the cat interrupted rather rudely. There was a bored look on its face. It sat down again. "It appears I had better come with you. Wizards and black unicorns are nothing to be fooling about with."
"I agree," Ben said. "But you don't appear to be any better equipped than I to do what needs to be done. Besides, this isn't your problem. It's mine. I don't think I would feel comfortable risking your life as well as my own."
The cat sneezed. "Such a noble expression of concern!" Ben could have sworn he caught a hint of sarcasm, but the cat's face revealed nothing. The cat circled briefly and sat down again. "What cat is not better equipped than any human to do anything that needs to be done? Besides, why do you persist in thinking of me as simply a cat?"
Ben shrugged. "Are you something more?"
The cat looked at him for a long time, then began to wash. It licked and worried its fur until it had groomed itself to its satisfaction. All the while, Ben sat watching. When the cat was at last content, it faced him once more. "You are not listening to me, my dear High Lord. It is no wonder that you have lost yourself or that you have become someone other than who you wish to be. It is no wonder that no one but I can recognize you. I begin to question if you are worth my time."
Ben's ears burned at the rebuke, but he said nothing. The cat blinked. "It is cold here in the woods; there is a chill in the air. I prefer the comfort of a hearth and fire. Would you like a fire, High Lord?"
Ben nodded. "I'd love one — but I don't have the tools."
The cat stood and stretched. "Exactly. But I do, you see. Watch."
The cat began to glow again, just as it had before, and its shape within the glow grew indistinct. Then suddenly there was a crystalline glimmer, and the flesh and blood creature of a moment earlier disappeared completely and was replaced by something that looked as if it were a large glass figurine. The figurine still retained the appearance of a cat with human features, but it moved as if liquid. Emerald eyes blazed out of a clear body in which moonlight reflected and refracted of it mirrored surfaces that shifted like tiny plates of glass. Then the light seemed to coalesce in the emerald eyes and thrust outward like a laser. It struck a gathering of deadwood a dozen feet away and ignited it instantly into a blazing fire.
Ben shielded his eyes, then watched as the fire diminished until it was manageable — the size of a campfire. The emerald eyes dimmed. The cat shimmered and returned to its former shape. It sat back slowly on its haunches and regarded Ben solemnly. "You will recall now, perhaps, what I told you I was?" it said.
"A prism cat," Ben responded at once, remembering.
"Quite right. I can capture light from any source — even so distant a source as the land's eight moons. I can then transform such light into energy. Basic physics, actually. At any rate, I have abilities somewhat more advanced than your own. You have seen but a small demonstration of those abilities."
Ben nodded slowly, feeling a bit uneasy now. "I'll take your word for it."
The cat moved a bit closer to the fire and sat down again. The night sounds had died into stillness. There was a sudden tension in the air. "I have been places others only dream about and I have seen the things that are hidden there. I know many secrets." The cat's voice became a whisper. "Come closer to the fire, High Lord Ben Holiday. Feel the warmth." Ben did as he was told, the cat watching. The emerald eyes seemed to flare anew. "I know of wizards and missing books of magic. I know of black unicorns and white, some lost, some found. I even know something of the deceptions that make some beings seem other than what they are." Ben started to interrupt, but the cat hissed in warning. "No, High Lord — just listen! I am not disposed to converse so freely on most occasions, so it would behoove you to let me finish! Cats seldom have anything to say, but we always know much! So it is in this instance. I know much that is hidden from you. Some of what I know might be useful, some not. It is all a matter of sorting out. But sorting out takes time, and time requires commitment. I give commitment to things but rarely. You, however, as I said, intrigue me. I am thinking about making an exception. What do you think?"
Ben wasn't sure what he thought. How could this cat know about black unicorns and white? How could he know about missing books of magic? How much of this was just talk in general and how much specific to him? He wanted to ask, but he knew as surely as it was night that the cat was not about to answer him. He felt his questions all jumble together in his throat.
"Will you come with me, then?" he asked finally.
The cat blinked. "I am thinking about it."
Ben nodded slowly. "Do you have a name?"
The cat blinked once more. "I have many names, just as I am many things. The name I favor just now is Edgewood Dirk. But you may call me Dirk."
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Dirk," Ben said.
"We shall see," Edgewood Dirk answered vaguely. He turned and moved a step or two closer to the fire. "The night wearies me; I prefer the day. I think I shall sleep now." He circled a patch of grass several times and then settled down, curling up into a ball of fur. The glow enveloped him momentarily, and he was fully cat once more. "Good night, High Lord."
"Good night," Ben replied mechanically. He was still taut with the emotions that Dirk had aroused in him. He mulled over what the cat had said, trying to decide how much the creature really knew and how much he was generalizing. The fire crackled and snapped against the darkness, and he moved closer to it for warmth. Whatever the case, Edgewood Dirk might have his uses, he reasoned and stretched his hands toward the flames. If only this strange creature were not so mercurial...
And suddenly an unexpected possibility occurred to him.
"Dirk, did you come looking for me?" he asked.
"Ah!" the cat replied softly.
"Did you? Did you deliberately seek me out?"
He waited, but Edgewood Dirk said nothing more. The stillness of a few moments earlier began to fill again with night sounds. The tension within him dissipated. Flames licked against the deadwood and chased the forest shadows. Ben stared over at the sleeping cat and experienced an odd sense of serenity. He no longer felt quite so alone.
He breathed deeply the night air and sighed. No longer alone? Who did he think he was kidding?
He was still trying to decide when he finally fell asleep.
Ben Holiday awoke at dawn and could not figure out where he was. His disorientation was so complete that for several moments he could remember nothing of the events of the past thirty-six hours. He lay on grasses damp with morning dew in a clearing in a forest and wondered why he wasn't in his own bed at Sterling Silver. He glanced down his body and wondered why he was wearing such shabby clothing. He stared off into the misted trees and wondered what in the hell was going on.
Then he caught sight of Edgewood Dirk perched on a fallen log, sassy and sleek, preening with studied care as he licked himself, all the while studiously ignoring his human company. Ben's situation came back to him then in a rush of unpleasant memories, and he found himself wishing rather ruefully that he had remained ignorant.
He rose, brushed himself off, drank a bit of spring water, and ate a stalk from the Bonnie Blues. The fruit taste was sweet and welcome, but his hunger for more substantial fare was to go unassuaged for yet another meal. He glanced once or twice in Dirk's direction, but the cat went on about the business of washing himself without noticing. Some things obviously took precedence over others.
When Dirk was finally finished, he rose from his sitting position, stretched, and said, "I have decided to come with you."
Ben refrained from saying what he was tempted to say and simply nodded.
"For a while, at least," Dirk added pointedly.
Ben nodded a second time. "Do you know where it is that I intend to go?" he asked.
Dirk gave him one of those patented "must you be such an idiot?" looks and replied, "Why? Don't you?"
They departed the campsite and walked in silence through the early morning hours. The skies were gray and oppressive. A heavily clouded sun lifted sluggishly from out of the tree line, its mist-diffused light sufficiently bright to permit small patches of dull silver to chase the shadows and dot the pathway ahead like stepping stones across a pond. Ben led, Dirk picking his way carefully a yard or two behind. There were no forest sounds to keep them company; the woods seemed empty of life.
They reached the Irrylyn at midmoming and followed its shoreline south along a narrow footpath that wound through forest trees and deadwood. Like the woods surrounding, the lake seemed lifeless. Clouds hung low across its waters, and there was no wind. Ben's thoughts drifted. He found himself reliving his first meeting with Willow. He had come to the lake country seeking the support of the River Master in his effort to claim Landover's throne. Willow and Ben had chanced upon each other bathing naked at night in the warm, spring-fed waters of this lake. He had never seen anyone as beautiful as the sylph. She had given back to him feelings he had thought dead and gone.
He shook his head. The memory left him oddly sad, as if it were an unpleasant reminder of something forever lost. He stared out across the gray, flat surface of the Irrylyn and tried to recapture the moment. But all he found were ghosts at play in the mists.
They broke away from the lake at its southern end and moved back into the forest. It was beginning to spit rain. The small patches of gray sunlight disappeared and shadows closed about. The character of the woods underwent a sudden and distinct change. The trees turned gnarled and damp, monstrous sentinels for a surreal world of imaginary wraiths that slipped like smoke through a mist that shrouded everything. Sounds returned, but they were more haunting than comforting, bits and pieces of life that sprinkled the gloom with hints of what lay hidden. Ben slowed, blinking his eyes, wiping the water from his face. He had made the trip down into the lake country on several occasions since that first meeting with Willow, but each time it had been in the company of the sylph or Questor Thews, and one of the fairy people had always met them. He could find his way as far as the Irrylyn by himself, but he could not find his way much farther than that. If he expected to find the River Master and his people, he was going to have to have some help — and he might not get it. The lake country people lived in Elderew, their home city, hidden somewhere in these forests. No one could find Elderew without help. The River Master could either bring you in or he could leave you out — the choice was his.
He walked a bit farther, saw the path before him disappear completely, and stopped. There was no indication of where to go next. There was no sign of a guide. The forest about him was a sullen wall of damp and gloom.
"Is there a problem of some sort?"
Edgewood Dirk appeared next to him and sat down gingerly, flinching as the rain struck him. Ben had forgotten the cat momentarily. "I'm not sure which way to go," he admitted reluctantly.
"Oh?" Dirk looked at him, and Ben could have sworn the cat shrugged. "Well, I suggest we trust to our instincts."
The cat stood up and padded silently ahead, moving slightly left into the mist. Ben stared after the beast momentarily, then followed. Who knew? Maybe the cat's instincts were worth trusting, he thought. They certainly couldn't be any worse than his own.
They picked their way slowly ahead, slipping through the massive trees, ducking low-hanging branches with mossy trailers, stepping over rotting logs, and skirting marshy patches of black ooze. The rain quickened, and Ben felt his clothing grow damp and heavy. The forest and the mist thickened and wrapped about him like a cloak; everything disappeared outside a ten-foot sweep. Ben heard things moving all about him, but saw nothing. Dirk kept padding steadily on, seemingly oblivious.
Then abruptly a shadow detached itself from the gloom and brought them to a halt. It was a wood sprite, lean and wiry, small as a child, his skin browned and grainy, his hair thick and dark, grown like a mane down the back of his neck and arms. Dressed in nondescript, earth-colored clothing, he seemed as much a part of the forest as the trees and, had he wished, might have disappeared as quickly as he had come. He said nothing as he glanced first at Ben, then at Dirk. He hesitated as he caught sight of the cat, seemed to consider something, then beckoned them forward.
Ben sighed. Halfway home, he thought.
They walked ahead silently, following a narrow trail that wound snakelike through vast, empty stretches of swamp. Fog rolled over the still surface of the water, clouds of impenetrable gray. A thin sheet of rain continued to fall. Shapes darted and glided wraithlike through the gloom, some with faces that were almost human, some with the look of forest creatures. Eyes blinked and peered out at him, then were gone — sprites, nymphs, kelpies, naiads, pixies, elementals of all forms. The fairy worlds of dozens of childhood stories came suddenly to life, an impossible mix of fantasy and truth. As always, it left Ben filled with wonder — and slightly afraid.
The path he followed was unfamiliar to him. It was like that whenever he came to Elderew; the River Master always brought him in a different way. Sometimes he passed through water that rose to his waist; sometimes he passed along marshy earth that sucked eagerly at his boots. Whichever way he came, the swamp was always close about, and he knew that to stray from any of the paths would bring a quick end to him. It always bothered him that not only could he not find his way in, but he could not find his way out again either. That meant he was trapped here if the River Master did not choose to release him. That would not have been a consideration in the past. After all, he had been Landover's King and he had possessed the power of the medallion. But all that was changed now. He had lost both his identity and the medallion. He was just a stranger. The River Master could do as he chose with a stranger.
He was still thinking about his dilemma when they entered a great stand of Cyprus, brushed aside curtains of damp moss trailers, wove past massive gnarled roots, and emerged at last from the marsh. Ben's boots found firmer ground, and he began a short climb up a gentle slope. The mist and gloom thinned, cyprus gave way to oak and elm, fetid smells dissipated, and the sweeter scent of open woodlands filled the morning air. Colors reappeared as garlands of rain-soaked flowers strung along hedges and roped from sway bars lined the path. Ben felt a tinge of relief. The way forward was familiar again. He quickened his pace, anxious that the journey be done.
Then the slope crested, the trees parted at the path's end, and there he was. Elderew stretched away before him, the city of the lake country fairies. The great, openair amphitheater where the people held their festivals stood in the foreground, gray and empty in the rainfall. Massive trees framed its walls, the lower branches connected by sawn logs to form seats, the whole ringing an arena of grasses and wild flowers. Branches interlaced overhead to create a leafy roof, the rain water dripping from its eaves in a steady trickle. Beyond, trees twice the size of California's giant redwoods rose over the amphitheater against the clouded horizon and cradled in their branches the city proper — a broad cluster of cottages and shops interconnected by an intricate network of tree lanes and stairways that stretched from forest earth to treetop and down again.
Ben stopped, stared, and blinked away the rain that ran down his forehead into his eyes. He realized suddenly that he was gaping like the country boy come to the city for the first time. It reminded him of how much a stranger he really was in this land — even after having lived in it for over a year, even though he was its King. It underlined in bold strokes the precariousness of his situation. He had lost even the small recognition he had enjoyed. He was an outsider stripped of friends and means, almost completely reliant on the charity of others.
The River Master appeared from a small stand of trees to one side, flanked by half-a-dozen guards. Tall and lean, his strange scaled skin gleaming with a silver cast where it shone beneath his forest green clothing, the lord of the lake country fairies stalked forward determinedly. His hard, chiseled face did not evidence much in the way of charity. His demeanor, normally calm and unhurried, seemed brusque. He said something to the guide in a dialect Ben did not recognize, but there was no mistaking the tone. The guide stepped back quickly, his small frame rigid, his eyes turned away.
The River Master faced Ben. The silver diadem about his forehead flashed dully with rain water as he tilted his head up. Coarse, black hair rippled along the back of his neck and forearms. There were to be no preliminaries. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"
Ben had anticipated some resistance, but nothing like this. He had expected that the River Master wouldn't recognize him, and, sure enough, he hadn't. But that didn't explain why the ruler of the once-fairy people was being so deliberately unfriendly. The River Master was surrounded by guards, and they were armed. He had left the members of his family behind where always before he had gathered them about him to receive visitors. He had not waited for Ben to reach the amphitheater, the traditional greeting place for visitors. And his voice reflected undisguised anger and suspicion. Something was dreadfully wrong.
Ben took a deep breath. "River Master, it's me, Ben Holiday," he announced and waited. There wasn't even a hint of recognition in the other's dark eyes. He forged ahead. "I know I don't look like myself, but that's because something has been done to me. A magic has been used to change my appearance. The wizard who served the old King's son, the one who abandoned Landover — he calls himself Meeks in my world — has returned and stolen both my identity and the throne. It's a long story. What's important is that I need your help. I have to find Willow."
The River Master stared, obviously surprised. "You are Ben Holiday?"
Ben nodded quickly. "I am — even though I don't appear to be. I'll try to explain. I traveled back to..."
"No!" The River Master cut him short with an irritated chop of one hand. "There is only one explanation I wish to hear from you — whoever you are. I wish to know why you brought the cat."
Now it was Ben's turn to stare. Rain water tricked steadily down his face, and he bunked it from his eyes. "The cat?"
"Yes, the cat! The prism cat, the fairy creature who sits next to you — why did you bring it here?" The River Master was a water sprite and there were gills directly below his chin at either side of his throat. He was so agitated now that the gills fluttered uncontrollably.
Surprised, Ben glanced at Dirk, who sat a dozen paces away and washed his paws with what appeared to be total disinterest in the conversation taking place. "I don't understand," he replied finally, looking back again at the River Master. "What's the problem with...?"
"Am I not making myself clear to you?" the River Master interrupted once more, rigid with anger now.
"Well, no, not..."
"The cat, I asked you — what is the cat doing here?"
Ben gave up trying to be diplomatic. "Now look. I didn't bring the cat; the cat chose to come. We have a nice working arrangement — I don't tell him where to go or what to do, and he doesn't tell me. So why don't you quit being difficult and tell me what's going on. The only thing I know about prism cats is that they can start campfires and change shape. Obviously you know something more."
The River Master's face tightened. "I do. And I would think that the High Lord of Landover would make it his business to know as well!" He came forward a step. "You still claim that you are the High Lord, don't you?"
"I most certainly do."
"Even though you look nothing like Ben Holiday at all, you wear a workman's clothing, and you travel without retainers or standard?"
"I explained all that..."
"Yes, yes, yes!" The River Master shook his head. "You certainly have the High Lord's boldness, if nothing else."
He seemed to consider the matter for a moment, saying nothing. The guards about him and the chastened guide were like statues. Ben waited impatiently. A handful of faces appeared from behind the trunks of surrounding trees, materializing through the rain and gloom. The River Master's people were growing curious.
Finally, the River Master cleared his throat. "Very well. I don't accept that you are Landover's High Lord, but whoever you are, allow me to explain a few things about the creature with whom you travel. First, prism cats are fairy creatures — true fairy creatures, not exiles and emigrants like the people of the lake country. Prism cats are almost never seen beyond the mists. Second, they do not normally keep company with humans. Third, they are uniformly unpredictable; no one pretends to understand fully what they are about. And fourth, wherever they journey, they bring trouble. You are fortunate that you were allowed into Elderew at all in the company of a prism cat. Had I known that you traveled with one, I would almost certainly have kept you out."
Ben sighed wearily, then nodded. Apparently superstitions about cats weren't confined to just his world. "Okay, I promise to keep all that in mind in the future," he replied, fighting to keep the irritation from his voice. "But the fact remains you did not keep me or the cat out, so here we are and whether you believe that I am High Lord of Landover or not doesn't really matter a rat's whiskers. I still need your help if I..."
A sudden gust of rain blew into his face, and he choked on what he was about to say next. He paused, shivering within the cold and damp of his clothing. "Do you suppose that we could continue this discussion somewhere dry?" he asked quietly.
The other man studied him silently, his expression unchanged.
"River Master, your daughter may be in great danger," Ben whispered. "Please!"
The River Master continued to study him a moment longer, then beckoned him to follow. A wave of one hand dismissed the guide. The faces of the watching villagers disappeared just as quickly. They walked a short distance through the trees to a gazebolike shelter formed of sculpted spruce, the guards trailing watchfully. A pair of, benches sat within the shelter facing each other over a broad, hollowed stump converted to a planter of flowers.
The River Master seated himself on one bench, and Ben took the other. The rain continued to fall all about them, a soft, steady patter on the forest trees and earth, but it was dry within the shelter.
Dirk appeared, jumped up beside Ben, settled down with all four paws tucked away, and closed his eyes sleepily.
The River Master glanced at the cat with renewed irritation, then squared around to Ben once more. "Say what you would," he advised.
Ben told him the whole story. He felt he had nothing to lose in doing so. He told him about the dreams, the journeys embarked upon by Questor, Willow, and himself, the discovery of the missing books of magic, the unexpected appearance of Meeks, the theft of both his identity and the medallion, and his exile from Sterling Silver. The River Master listened without comment. He sat there as if he had been carved from stone, unmoving, his eyes fastened on Ben's. Ben finished, and the lord of the lake country people remained a statue.
"I don't know what else I can say to you," Ben said finally.
The River Master responded with a barely perceptible nod, but still said nothing.
"Listen to me," Ben pleaded. "I have to find Willow and warn her that this dream of the black unicorn was sent by Meeks and I don't think I can do that without your help." He paused, suddenly reminded of a truth that he still had difficulty acknowledging — even to himself. "Willow means a great deal to me, River Master. I care for her; you must know that. Now tell me — has she been here?"
The River Master pulled his forest cloak closer about him. The look in his eyes was distant, "I think perhaps you are who you claim to be," he said softly. "I think perhaps you are the High Lord. Perhaps."
He rose, glanced from his shelter at the guards who ringed them, motioned all but one of them away, and came over to stand next to Ben. He bent down, his strange, wooden face right next to Ben's. "High Lord or fraud, tell me the truth now — how is it that you come to travel with this cat?"
Ben forced himself to stay calm. "It was a matter of chance. The cat found me at the edge of the lake country last night and suggested his company might be useful. I'm still waiting to find out if that's true."
He looked down at Dirk momentarily, half expecting the cat to confirm what he had said. But Dirk sat there with his eyes closed and said nothing. It occurred to Ben suddenly that the cat hadn't said a word since they had arrived in Elderew. He wondered why.
"Give me your hand," the River Master said suddenly. He reached down with his own and clasped Ben's tightly. "There is one way in which I may be able to test the truth of your claim. Do you remember when you first came to Elderew and we walked alone through the village and talked of the magic of the lake country people?" Ben nodded. "Do you remember what I showed you of the magic?"
The pressure of his grip was like an iron bar. Ben winced, but did not try to pull away. "You touched a bush stricken with wilt and healed it," he replied, his eyes locked on those of the other man. "You were attempting to show me why the lake country people could manage on their own. Later, you refused to give your pledge to the throne." He paused deliberately. "But you have given it since, River Master — and you have given it to me."
The River Master studied him a moment, then pulled him effortlessly to his feet. "I have said that you could be Ben Holiday," he whispered, his hard face bent close. "I believe it possible." He placed both of Ben's hands in his own. "I do not know how your appearance was altered, but if magic changed you to what you are, then magic can be used to change you back again. I possess the power to heal much that is sickened and distressed. I will use that power to help you if I can." The scaled hands tightened harder about Ben's. "Stand where you are and do not move."
Ben took a quick breath. The River Master's grip warmed his own, and the chiseled features lowered into shadow. Ben waited. The other's breathing slowed and a sudden flush spread through Ben's body. He shivered at the feeling, but remained stationary.
Finally the River Master stepped back. There was a hint of confusion in the dark eyes. "I am sorry, but I cannot help you," he said finally. "Magic has indeed been used to alter your appearance. But the magic is not of another's making — it is of your own."
Ben stared. "What?"
"You have made yourself who and what you are," the other said. "You must be the one to change yourself back again."
"But that doesn't make any sense!" Ben exploded. "I haven't done a thing to change what I look like — it was Meeks! I watched him do it! He stole the medallion of the Kings of Landover and gave me... this!"
He yanked the tarnished image of Meeks from his tunic and thrust it out angrily, almost as if to snap it from its chain. The River Master studied it a moment, touched it experimentally, then shook his head. "The image graven here is clouded in the same manner as your appearance. The magic at work is again of your own making."
Ben's jaw tightened, and he snatched the medallion back again. The River Master was talking in riddles. Whatever magic was at work was most assuredly not of Ben's making. The River Master was either mistaken or misled — or he was deliberately trying to confuse Ben because he still didn't trust him.
The River Master seemed to read his mind. He shrugged. "Believe me or don't — the choice is yours. What I tell you is what I see." He paused. "If this new medallion you wear was given to you by your enemy, perhaps you should discard it. Is there a reason you keep it?"
Ben sighed. "Meeks told me that the medallion would let him know what I was about. He warned that a certain magic protects against trying to remove it — a magic that could kill me."
"But is that so?" the other asked. "Perhaps the wizard lied,"
Ben hesitated before replying. He had considered that possibility before. After all, why should he believe anything Meeks told him? The problem was that there was no way to test the truth of the matter without risking his life.
He lifted the tarnished medallion before him experimentally. "I have given it some thought..." he began.
Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edgewood Dirk stir. The cat's head lifted, and the green eyes snapped open. It was almost as if the cat had roused himself from his near-comatose state for the express purpose of seeing what Ben would do. The strange eyes were fixed and staring. Ben hesitated, then slowly lowered the medallion back inside his tunic. "I think maybe I need to give it some more thought," he finished.
Dirk's eyes slipped closed again. The black face lowered. Rain beat down steadily in the momentary stillness, and a long peal of thunder rolled across the lake country from somewhere east. Ben experienced a strange mix of frustration and anger. What sort of game was the cat playing now?
The River Master moved back to the other bench and remained standing. "It appears I cannot help you after all," he advised. "I think that you had better go — you and the cat."
Ben saw his chance for any help slipping away. He rose quickly. "At least tell me where to find Willow," he begged. "She said she was coming here to the lake country to learn the meaning of her dream. Surely she would come to you for help."
The River Master studied him silently for a moment, considering in his own mind things hidden from Ben, then shook his head slowly. "No, High Lord or pretender — whichever you are — she would not."
He came partway around the stump once more, then stopped. Wind blew sharply at his cloak, and he pulled it close to ward away the chill of the rain. "I am her father, but not the parent from whom she would seek help when it was needed. I was never that. I have many children by many wives. Some I am closer to than others. Willow has never been close to me. She is too much like her mother — a wild thing who seeks only to sever ties, not to bind them. Neither seeks companionship from me; neither ever did. The mother came to me only once, then was gone again, back into the forest..."
He trailed off, distracted. "I never even knew her name," he continued after a moment. "A wood nymph, no more than a tiny bit of silk and light, she dazzled me so that names were of no consequence for that one night. I lost her without ever really having had her. I lost Willow, I think, because of what that did to me. I begrudged the mother her freedom, and Willow was forced to live with my anger and resentment. That caused her to slip gradually from me, and there was no help for it. I loved her mother so much that I could neither forgive nor forget what she had done to me. When I gave Willow permission to live at Sterling Silver, I severed the only tie that still bound us. She became forever her own woman and my daughter no longer. Now she sees me as a man who has more children than he can ever truly be father to. She chooses not to be one of those."
He turned away, lost perhaps in memories. His confession was a strange one, Ben thought — told simply and directly, but without a trace of emotion. There had been no inflection in the River Master's voice, no expression in his face. Willow meant much to him, and yet he could demonstrate nothing of it — he could only relate the fact of its being. It made Ben wonder suddenly about his own feelings for the sylph and question what they were.
The River Master stared out into the rain for a time, motionless, silent, and then he shrugged. "I could heal so much, but not that," he said quietly. "I did not know how." Suddenly he looked back again at Ben — and it was as if he were seeing him for the first time. "Why is it that I tell this to you?" he whispered in surprise.
Ben had no idea. He kept silent as the River Master stared at him as if mystified by his even being there. Then the lord of the lake country people seemed simply to dismiss the matter. His voice was flat and cold. "You waste your time with me. Willow will go to her mother. She will go to the old pines and dance."
"Then I will search for her there," Ben said. He rose to his feet. The River Master watched him, silent. Ben hesitated. "You need not send a guide with me. I know the way."
The River Master nodded, still silent. Ben started away, walked a dozen paces from the shelter, stopped, and turned. The single remaining guard had faded back into the trees. The two men were alone. "Would you like to come with me?" Ben asked impulsively.
But the River Master was staring out into the rain again, lost in its dull silver glitter, lost in its patter. The gills on his neck slowed to a barely perceptible flutter. The hard, chiseled face seemed emptied of life.
"He doesn't hear you," Edgewood Dirk said suddenly. Ben glanced down in surprise and found the cat at his feet. "He has gone inside of himself to discover where he's been. It happens like that sometimes after revealing something so carefully guarded for so long."
Ben frowned. "Carefully guarded? Do you mean what he said about Willow? About her mother?" The frown deepened as he knelt next to the cat. "Dirk, why did he tell me all that? He's not even sure who I am."
Dirk looked over at him. "There are many forms of magic in this world, High Lord. Some come in large pack ages, some in small. Some work with fire and strength of body and heart... and some work with revelation."
"Yes, but why...?"
"Listen to me, High Lord! Listen!" Dirk's voice was a hiss. "So few humans listen to anything a cat has to say. Most only talk to us. They talk to us because we are such good listeners, you see. They find comfort in our presence. We do not question and we do not judge. We simply listen. They talk, and we listen. They tell us everything! They tell us their innermost thoughts and dreams, things they would tell no other. Sometimes, High Lord, they do all this without even understanding why!"
He was still again, and suddenly it occurred to Ben that Dirk wasn't speaking in general terms, but in very specific ones. He wasn't talking about just everyone, but about someone definite. His eyes lifted to find the solitary figure of the River Master.
And then he thought suddenly about himself.
"Dirk, what...?"
"Shhhhhh!" The cat hushed him into silence. "Let the stillness be. High Lord. Do not disturb it. If you are able, listen to its voice — but let it be."
The cat moved slowly off into the trees, picking his way gingerly over the damp, water-soaked forest earth. Rain fell in steady sheets out of skies clouded over from horizon to horizon, a gray ceiling canopied above the trees. Silence filled the gaps left by the sound of the rain, cloaking the city of Elderew, the houses and tree lanes, the walkways and parks, and the vast, empty amphitheater that loomed behind the still-motionless figure of the River Master. Ben listened as Dirk had said he should and he could almost hear the silence speak.
But what was it saying to him? What was it that he was supposed to learn? He shook his head hopelessly. He didn't know.
Dirk had disappeared into the haze ahead of him, a pale gray shadow. Abandoning his efforts to listen further, Ben hurried after.
That there was something inordinately peculiar about Edgewood Dirk was no longer a matter for debate with Ben Holiday. You might have argued that all cats were somewhat peculiar and that it should come as no surprise therefore that a cat out of the fairy world would turn out to be even more peculiar than your average feline, but Ben would have disagreed. The sort of peculiar exhibited by Dirk went far beyond anything encountered in — oh, say — Alice in Wonderland or Dick Whittington, Dirk lent a whole new meaning to the word, and the most aggravating part of all was the fact that, try as Ben might, he could not decipher what it was that the beast was about!
In short, who was this cat, and what was he doing here with Ben?
He would have loved to find immediate answers to his questions, but time did not permit it. The cat was leading the way once more — presumptuous beast that it was — and he was forced once again to hurry after. Rain pelted his face in a quickening downpour, and the wind gusted in chill swipes. Nightfall was approaching and the weather was growing worse. Ben was drenched, cold, hungry, and discouraged, despite his resolve to continue, and he found himself wishing fondly for a warm bed and dry clothes.
But he was unlikely to find either just now. The River Master was barely tolerating his presence as it was, and he must use the time that remained to him to try to find Willow.
He passed through the city of Elderew, head bent against the weather, another of dusk's faceless shadows, then plunged into the forest beyond. The lights of cottages and homes disappeared behind him, and the darkness closed about in a wet, rain-sodden curtain. Trailers of mist floated past like kite tails broken free from their winged flyers, touching and rubbing, forming into gradually thickening sheets. Ben ignored it all and pushed on. He had gone to the old pines often enough to know the way blindfolded.
He arrived at the clearing moments later — several steps behind Edgewood Dirk. He glanced about expectantly, but there was nothing to be found. The clearing sat empty, ringed by the old pines, ancient sentinels of the forest, as damp and cold as the rest of the land. He cast about briefly for tracks or other signs of Willow's passing, but there was nothing to indicate whether the sylph had been there or not.
Edgewood Dirk paced the clearing once, sniffing at the earth, then retreated to the shelter of a pine's spreading boughs and sat down daintily. "She was here two nights ago. High Lord," he announced. "She was seated close to where you stand while her mother danced, then let the change take her. She left at dawn."
Ben stared at the cat. "How do you know all this?"
"A good nose," Dirk advised disdainfully. "You should cultivate one. It can tell you all sorts of things you would miss otherwise. My nose tells me what your eyes cannot tell you."
Ben moved over and hunched down in front of the cat, ignoring the water that dripped off the pine's branches and ran down his face in steady streams. "Does your nose tell you where she has gone now?" he asked quietly.
"No," the cat answered.
"No?"
"You are repeating me without need," Dirk sniffed.
"But if your nose told you all the rest, why can't it tell you that?" Ben demanded. "Is your nose always this selective?"
"Sarcasm does not become you, High Lord," Dirk admonished, head cocking slightly. "Besides, I deserve better than that. I am, after all, your sole companion and supporter in this venture."
"Which needs some explaining, I might point out," Ben snapped. "You persist in taunting me with what you know, then tell me only what you wish. I realize that you have a perfectly good excuse for this behavior, being a cat, but I hope I can impress on you how aggravating it is to me!" His temper was getting the better of him, and his voice was rising. "I simply asked how you could determine that Willow was here, that her mother danced, that she transformed, and yet not be able to tell me where..."
"I don't know."
"...she might have gone after leaving... What? You don't know? You don't know what?"
"I don't know why I don't know."
Ben stared once more.
"I should be able to read her passing from the clearing, but I can't," Dirk finished calmly. "It is almost as if it was deliberately hidden."
Ben took a moment to consider this new piece of information, then shook his head. "But why would she hide where she was going?"
Dirk did not answer. Instead, he hissed softly in warning and rose to his feet once more. Ben stood up with him and turned. The River Master's dark figure reappeared from out of the mist, striding the length of the clearing to where Ben waited. He was alone.
"Has Willow been here?" he asked abruptly.
Ben hesitated, then nodded. "Been and gone. The cat says her mother danced for her two nights ago."
There was anger reflected in the eyes of the water sprite, but he smoothed it away quickly. "She would appear to her daughter, of course," he murmured. "They share that bond. The dance would reveal truth in the fairy way, would show what was sought..." He trailed off, as if thinking of something else, then straightened. "Have you determined where she has gone, High Lord?"
Again Ben hesitated, this time as much in surprise as out of caution. The River Master had called him High Lord. Had he now decided to accept Ben's claim? Ben met his steady gaze. "Her trail has been concealed from us," he said. "Hidden deliberately, the cat thinks."
The River Master glanced briefly at Dirk, frowning. "Perhaps." His chiseled face swung back on Ben. "But my daughter lacks the guile and her mother the means. The concealment, if there be one, comes from another source. There are some who would help her and not tell me. There are some." The anger in his eyes flared anew, then was gone. "Still, it hardly matters. I have the means to find her anyway. And anything else I wish."
Abruptly he turned, muttering. "Time slips away. The rain and the dark will hamper my efforts as it is. I must act quickly if I am to be effective." There was an urgency in his voice — and a determination. "I will not have these games played behind my back. I will know the meaning of the dream of the black unicorn and the golden bridle and I will know it whether Willow and her mother wish me to or not!"
He disappeared back into the forest in a rush, not bothering to see if Ben was following. He needn't have worried. Ben was right on his heels.
Edgewood Dirk stayed beneath the pine boughs and watched them go. After a moment, he began to clean himself.
The River Master had undergone such a complete transformation that Ben could scarcely believe it. One moment he was disinterested in the matter of his daughter and the black unicorn, the next he could not find out about them quickly enough. He strode back through the forest to the edge of the city, calling his guard to him as he went. Retainers appeared from everywhere, hanging at his side momentarily for their instructions, then disappearing back into the night. Like shadows, they came and disappeared again, a smattering of sprites, kelpies, naiads, and others — voiceless, momentary appendages to the dark figure of their lord. The River Master spoke rapidly and precisely, then turned away from each, his pace never slowing. He skirted almost furtively the boundaries of Elderew proper and turned back into the forest. Ben trailed after, all but forgotten.
The moments slipped by as they passed deeper into the forest trees, east and north of the city now. Nightfall had closed down so tightly that nothing beyond a dozen feet was visible. The rain washed over both of them in sheets, a steady downpour that showed little sign of abating. Thunder rolled out of the skies in long peals, and lightning split the clouds from somewhere distant. The worst of the storm had not reached them yet. It was still coming.
The River Master seemed oblivious. His concentration was absolute. Ben began to wonder what was going on and to grow uneasy.
Then they emerged from the trees onto a broad hillside clearing that stretched downward to a vast lake into which a pair of rivers fed at opposite ends. The rivers, swollen with rain water, cascaded down through rocky gorges that fell away from heights anchored by massive clusters of the giant redwoodlike trees. The lake roiled with the pumping action, and the flare of new lightning danced and glimmered with a mix of torchlight from stanchions that ran the length and breadth of the hills in widening arcs and lit the whole of the slope. Ben slowed and stared out into the black. The lake country people seemed to be everywhere — or were there simply a few amid the vast number of torches? Wind whipped the rain into his eyes, and he could not tell.
The River Master turned, saw he was still there, and beckoned him forward to a shelf of rock that jutted out from the hillside and overlooked the rivers, the lake, and the weaving lines of torchlight. The fury of the storm broke over them as they stood on the unsheltered platform, pressed close against each other, their words almost lost in the howl of the wind.
"Watch now, High Lord!" the River Master shouted, his strange, chiseled face inches from Ben's. "I cannot command Willow's mother to dance for me as she danced for her daughter, but I can command her kindred! I will know what secrets are kept from me!"
Ben nodded mutely. There was a frenzy in the other's eyes that he had never seen before — a frenzy that hinted of passion.
The River Master signaled, and a sticklike being approached from out of the night, a creature so thin that it appeared to have been fashioned of deadwood. Rough woolen clothing hung about its body, whipped by the wind, and green comsilk hair ran from the crown of its head to the nape of its neck and along its spine and the backs of its arms and legs. Its features were formed of what looked to be a series of slits cut into the wood of its face. It carried a set of music pipes in one hand.
"Play!" the River Master commanded, one hand sweeping the valley slope. "Call them!"
The stick creature hunched down against the sodden earth, settled itself with its legs crossed before it, and brought the pipes to its lips. The music began softly, a sweet, lilting cadence that rocked in the troughs of momentary stillness left by lulls in the wind's deep howl. It meshed and blended with the sounds of the storm, weaving its way through the fabric like thread hand-sewn. It had the texture of silk, smooth and quiet, and it wrapped itself about the listeners like a blanket. Downward along the slope it carried, and there was the sense of something changing in the air.
"Hear it!" the River Master said in Ben's ear, exultant. The player of the pipes lifted the pitch gradually, and the song rose higher into the fury of the storm. Slowly it transcended the dark and the wet and the chill, and the whole of their surroundings began to alter. The howl of the storm diminished as if blanketed away, the chill gave way to warmth, and the night brightened as if dawn had come already. Ben felt himself lifted as on a cushion of air. He blinked, disbelieving. Everything about him was changing — shape, substance, time, everything. There was a magic in the music that was greater than any he had ever encountered, a power that could alter even nature's great force.
Torchlight brightened as if the fires had been given new life, and the slope was lit with their glow. But there was a new glow as well, a glow that hung on the night air like incandescence. It radiated out across the slope and downward to the waters of the lake. The waters had gone still, the churning smoothed away as a mother's hand would smooth a sleeping child's ruffled hair. The glow danced at the water's edge, a living thing.
"There, High Lord — look!" the River Master urged. Ben stared. Bits and pieces of the glow had begun to take shape. Dancing, whirling, lifting against the torchlight, they had begun to assume the forms of fairy creatures. Slight, airy things, they gathered strength from the glow and from the music of the pipes and took life. Ben knew them instantly. They were wood nymphs, the same as Willow's mother — childlike creatures as insubstantial as smoke. Limbs flashed and glistened nut-brown, hair tumbled waist-length, tiny faces lifted skyward. Dozens of them appeared as if from nowhere and danced and flitted at the shores of the mirrored lake in a kaleidoscope of movement.
The music heightened. The glow radiated the warmth of a summer's day, and colors began to appear in its brightness — rainbow shades that mixed and spread like an artist's brush strokes on canvass. Shape and form began to alter, and Ben felt himself transported to another time and place. He was young again, and the world was all new. The lifting sensation he had experienced earlier intensified, and he was floating free of the earth, free of gravity's pull. The River Master and the player of the pipes floated with him, birdlike in the sweep of sound and color. Still the wood nymphs danced below him, whirling with a new exhilaration into the glow, into the air. They spun outward from the shore's edge, skipping weightless across the waters of the still lake, their tiny forms barely touching the mirrored surface. Slowly they came together at the lake's center, forming intricate patterns as they linked briefly and broke away again, linked and broke away.
Above them, an image began to take shape in the air.
"Now it comes!" the River Master breathed from somewhere so distant that Ben could barely hear him.
The image came clear, and it was Willow. She stood alone at the edge of a lake — this lake — and held in her hand the bridle of spun gold that was the vision of her dream. She was clothed in white silk, and her beauty was a radiance that outshone even that created by the music of the player and the dance of the wood nymphs. Rushed with life, her face lifted against the colors that spun about her, and her long green tresses fanned out in the whisper of the wind. She held the bridle out from her as if it were a gift and she waited.
Beware! a voice warned suddenly, a voice so tiny as to be almost lost in the whirl of the vision.
Ben wrenched his eyes momentarily from Willow. From what seemed an impossible distance below. Edgewood Dirk stared up at him.
"What's wrong?" Ben managed to ask.
But the question was irretrievably lost in what happened next. The music had reached a fever pitch, so intense that it locked away everything. The world was gone. There was only the lake, the whirl of the wood nymphs, and the vision of Willow. Colors flooded Ben's vision with impossibly bright hues, and there were tears in his eyes. He had never known such happiness. He felt as if he were breaking apart inside and had been transformed.
Then something new appeared at the edge of the lake, beyond the nymphs and the vision of Willow — something at once both impossibly lovely and terrifying. Ben heard the muffled cry of the River Master. It was a cry of fulfillment. The whirl of sound and color shimmered and bent like fabric stretched, and the intrusion from without stepped gingerly into its weave.
It was the black unicorn.
Ben felt his breath catch in his throat. There was a burning in his eyes and a sudden, impossible sense of need. He had never seen anything as beautiful as the unicorn. Even Willow in the vision of the wood nymphs was but a pale shadow next to the fairy creature. Its delicate body seemed to sway with the music and the dance as it emerged from the dark into the sweep of color, and its horn glowed white with the magic of its being.
Then Dirk's warning came again, no more than a memory this time. Beware!
"What is happening?" Ben whispered.
The River Master turned back to him now, head swinging about in slow motion. The hard face was alive with feelings that danced across its chiseled surface in waves of light and color. He spoke, yet the words seemed to come not from his mouth, but from his mind. "I will have him, High Lord! I will have his magic for my own, and it will become a part of my land and my people! He must belong to me! He must!"
And Ben saw suddenly, through the blanket of pleasant feelings and through the music and the dance, the truth of what the River Master was about. The River Master had not summoned the piper and the wood nymphs for the purpose of discovering anything of Willow or her mother. His ambition was much greater than that. He had summoned piper and nymphs to bring him the black unicorn. He had used music and dance to create the illusion of his daughter and her bridle of spun gold to draw the unicorn to the lakeside where it might be taken. The River Master had believed Ben's story all right — but he had decided that the black unicorn would better serve his own purposes than the purposes of a dethroned and powerless King. He had taken Willow's dream and made it his own. This whole business was an elaborate charade — the piper and the wood nymphs and the instruments used to create it.
And, oh, God, it had worked! The black unicorn had come!
He watched the unicorn now in fascination, unable to turn away, knowing he must do something to prevent what was about to happen, but frozen by the beauty and intensity of the vision. The unicorn shone like a bit of flawless night against the sweep of colors that had drawn it in. It nodded its slender head to the call of the music and cried once to the vision of the girl with her golden bridle. It was a fairy-tale rendering brought to life, and the loveliness of it was compelling. Goat's feet pranced and lion's tail swished, and the unicorn stepped further into the trap.
I have to stop it! Ben felt himself trying to scream. And then the fabric through which the black unicorn had passed so easily seemed to shred at its center point high above the vision and the wood nymphs, and a nightmare born of other minds and needs thrust its way into view. It was a loathsome thing, a creature of scales and spikes, of teeth and claws, winged and coated in a black ooze that steamed at the warmth of the air. A cross between a serpent and a wolf, it forced its way in from the night and the storm and plummeted toward the lake, shrieking.
Ben went cold. He had seen this being before. It was a demon out of the netherworld of Abaddon — a twin to the monster once ridden in battle by the Iron Mark.
It came for them in a fury, then veered sharply as it caught sight of the black unicorn. The unicorn saw the demon as well and screamed a terrifying, high-pitched cry. The ridged horn glowed white-hot with magic, and the unicorn leaped sideways as the demon swept by it, talons raking the empty air. Then the unicorn was gone, fled back into the night, having disappeared as suddenly as it had come.
The River Master cried out in anguish and fury. The demon swung back around, and fire lanced from its open maw. The flames engulfed the piper and turned the stick-like figure to ash. Sound and color dissipated into mist, and the night returned. Darkness flooded inward as the vision of Willow and the golden bridle collapsed. Ben stood once more on the shelf of rock beside the River Master, and the fury of the storm washed over them anew.
But the wood nymphs whirled on, still caught up in the frenzy of their dance. It was as if they could not stop. All about the lake's shores they spun, tiny bits of glowing light in the black and the wet. Torches fizzled and went dark, blown out by the rain and the wind, and only the light of the wood nymphs was left against the night. It drew the demon like a hunter to its prey. The monster swung back and down, sweeping the lake end to end, fire bursting from its throat and turning the helpless dancers to ash. The screams as they died were tiny shrieks that lacked real substance, and they disappeared as if candles snuffed. The River Master howled in despair, but could not save them. One by one they died, burned away by the demon as it passed back and forth across the night like death's shadow.
Ben was beside himself. He could not bear the destruction. But he could not turn away. He acted finally because the horror was too much to stand further. He acted without thinking, yanking the tarnished medallion from beneath his tunic as he would have in the old days, thrusting it out against the night, shouting in fury at the winged demon.
He had forgotten momentarily what medallion it was he wore.
The demon turned and glided toward him. Ben was suddenly conscious of Dirk at his feet, sitting motionless next to him. He was conscious now, too, of the fact that by drawing attention to himself he had just signed his own death warrant.
Then lightning flashed, and the demon saw clearly the medallion, Ben Holiday, and Edgewood Dirk. The beast hissed with the fury of steam released through a fissure in the earth, and swung abruptly away. It flew back into the night and was gone.
Ben was shaking. He didn't know what had happened. He only knew that for some unexplainable reason he was still alive. Below, the last of the wood nymphs had ceased finally to dance and disappeared back into forest, the loss of light from their passing leaving dark the whole of the lake and hills. Wind and rain lashed the emptiness that remained.
Ben stilled his hands. Slowly he placed the medallion back within his tunic. It burned against his skin.
The River Master had sunk to one knee. His eyes were fixed on Ben. "That thing knew you!" he cried in anger.
"No, it couldn't have..." Ben began.
"The medallion!" the other cut him short. "It knew the medallion! There is a tie between you that you cannot explain away!" He rose to his feet, his breath a sharp hiss. "You have made me lose everything! You have cost me the unicorn! You have caused the destruction of my piper and my wood nymphs. You and that cat! I warned you about that cat! Trouble follows a prism cat everywhere! Look what you have done! Look what you have caused!"
Ben recoiled. "I haven't..."
But the River Master cut him short once more. "I want you gone! I am no longer sure who you are and I no longer care! I want you gone from my country now — and the cat as well! If I find you here come morning, I will put you into the swamp in a place from which you will never escape! Now go!"
The fury in his voice defied argument. The River Master had been cheated of something he had wanted very badly and he had made up his mind that Ben was at fault. It made no difference that his wants had been selfish ones or that he had been deprived of something to which he had not been entitled in the first place. It was of no importance that he had misused Ben. All he could see was the loss.
Ben felt an odd emptiness within him. He had expected better of the River Master.
He turned without a word and walked away into the night.
The rain and the chill turned Ben Holiday into a sodden, disheveled mess as he trudged back through the forest trees from the empty hillside and the angry River Master, and his appearance became an accurate reflection of his mood. The mix of emotions he had experienced from the music of the pipes, the dance of the wood nymphs, the vision of Willow and what followed was still tearing at him with all the savagery and persistence of a wolf pack. He could still feel twinges of the ecstasy and freedom of self that the music and dance had brought, but the predominant feelings were of dismay and horror.
The images played out in the dark solitude of his mind: the River Master, anxious to seize the black unicorn so that its magic might be his alone; that winged demon, burning the frail wood nymphs to ash as they whirled helplessly at the water's edge; Ben himself, instinctively holding forth the blackened image of Meeks as if it were a talisman that would somehow be recognized...
And perhaps it was.
Damn, what had happened there? What was it that had happened? The winged creature had come for him to destroy him, then turned aside as if it had flown into a wall!
Had it been the medallion, Ben, Edgewood Dirk, or perhaps something else entirely?
The River Master clearly thought it was the medallion. He was convinced that Ben was bound to the demon — and to Meeks — in some foul way that protected all three. Ben shivered. He had to admit to the possibility. The image of Meeks might have been enough to turn back the demon...
He stopped. That was assuming that the demon had been sent by Meeks, of course. But wasn't it the only possibility that made sense? Hadn't Meeks invited the demons out of Abaddon in the first place when the old King died? Ben started walking again. Yes, it had to be Meeks. He must have sent the demon because he knew the River Master was close to capturing the black unicorn, and he wanted the unicorn for himself — for whatever reason. But that meant he must have had some way of knowing that the River Master was about to capture the unicorn, and that in turn meant that Ben's medallion might have provided such a way. Meeks had warned that the medallion would let him know what Ben was about. The medallion might have done exactly that. Ben might indeed have been responsible for the destruction of the wood nymphs.
The screams of the dying fairy creatures still echoed in the dark corners of his mind, a savage reminder. Until they died, he had not even thought of them as real — just bits and pieces of light with human images cast upon the glow; slender, lyrical figurines that would shatter like glass if dropped...
The whole mixed and teased in his mind until at last he shoved all the pieces aside violently. His questions bred more questions, and there seemed to be answers for none of them. The rain beat down in a wet staccato, drumming, puddling in mud and grasses, and running across the pathway he followed in small rivers. He could feel the cold and the dark pressing in about him and he wished faintly for a moment's warmth and a spark of light. He walked; yet he was not really aware of where it was he was going. Away, he decided. Away from the River Master and the lake country, away from the one good chance he had of finding Willow before Meeks.
His boots slapped at the mud and damp. But where was he to go?
He cast about suddenly for Edgewood Dirk. Where was that confounded cat? It was always there when he didn't need it; where was it now that he did? Dirk always seemed to know which way to go. The cat seemed to know everything.
Dirk had even known what the River Master was trying to do with the music of the piper and the dance of the wood nymphs, Ben thought as he reflected on the events that had just taken place.
Beware, the cat had warned.
Convenient, that.
His thoughts twisted, and he found himself thinking again of the medallion. Had it really brought the demon? Had it really been responsible for the destruction of the wood nymphs and the piper? He couldn't live with that. Perhaps he ought simply to get rid of the thing. After all, what if it actually did work to the benefit of the wizard if Ben kept it on? Maybe that was exactly what Meeks wanted. The warning against trying to remove it might be a ruse. If he took it off, maybe he would be free of the wizard.
He stopped once more and reached down into his tunic. He placed his fingers about the chain from which the medallion hung and slowly lifted it free. Staring at it in the dark, seeing its muted, tarnished image glimmer in the brief flashes of lightning that streaked the forest skies, he had an incredibly strong urge to fling the unsettling piece of metal from him. If he did so, he might set himself free, redeem himself in part at least for the destruction of the wood nymphs. He might begin anew...
"Ah, my dear High Lord, there you are — wandering about in the dark like some blind 'possum. I thought I had lost you completely."
Edgewood Dirk stepped delicately from the trees, his immaculate coat glistening with rain water, his whiskers drooping slightly with the damp. He walked over to a fallen log and sat down on the dampened bark with studied care.
"Where have you been?" Ben snapped irritably. He hesitated, then let the medallion drop back into his tunic.
"Looking for you, of course," Dirk replied calmly. "It seems that you need a great deal of looking after."
"Is that so?" Ben was steamed. He was weary, frightened, disgusted, and a dozen other unpleasant things, but most of all he was sick and tired of being treated like a lost puppy by this damn cat. "Well, if ever there was someone suited to the task of looking after people, it's you, isn't it? Edgewood Dirk, caretaker of lost souls. Who else possesses such marvelous insight into human character? Who else discerns the truth of things with such remarkable consistency? Tell me again, Dirk — how is it that you know so much? Come on, tell me! How did you know what the River Master was doing back there before I did? How did you know he was summoning the unicorn? Why did you let me just stand there and be part of it? Those wood nymphs probably died because of me! Why did you let that happen?"
The cat stared at him pointedly for a moment, then began to wash. Ben waited. Dirk seemed oblivious to his presence.
"Well?" Ben said finally.
The cat looked up. "You do have a lot of questions, don't you, High Lord?" The pink tongue licked out. "Why is it that you keep looking to me for the answers?"
"Because you seem to have them, damn it!"
"What seems to be and what actually is are quite different, High Lord — a lesson you have yet to learn. I have instinct and I have common sense; sometimes I can discern things more easily than humans. I am not, however, a vast reservoir of answers to questions. There is a difference." He sneezed. "Besides, you mistake the nature of our relationship yet again. I am a cat and I don't have to tell you anything. I am your companion in this adventure, not your mentor. I am here at my own sufferance and I can leave when I choose. I need answer to no one — least of all you. If you desire answers to your questions, I suggest you find them yourself. The answers are all there if you would make the necessary effort to look for them."
"You could have warned me!"
"You could have warned yourself. You simply didn't bother. Be grateful that I chose to intervene at all."
"But the wood nymphs..."
"Why is it," the cat cut him short, "that you continually insist on asking for things to which you are not entitled? I am not your deus ex machinal"
Ben choked back whatever he was about to say next and stared. Deus ex machinal "You speak Latin?" he asked in disbelief.
"And I read Greek," Dirk answered.
Ben nodded, wishing as he did that he might solve even a small part of the mystery of the cat. "Did you know ahead of time that the wood nymphs were going to be destroyed?" he asked finally.
The cat took its time answering. "I knew that the demon would not destroy you."
"Because?"
"Because you are the High Lord."
"A High Lord no one recognizes, however."
"A High Lord who won't recognize himself."
Ben hesitated. He wanted to say, "I do, but my appearance has been changed and my medallion has been stolen, and so on and so forth." But he didn't because this was a road they had traveled down already. He simply said, "If the demon couldn't recognize me, then how did you know he wouldn't destroy me?"
Dirk almost seemed to shrug. "The medallion."
Ben nodded. "Then I think I should get rid of the medallion. I think the medallion caused what happened back there — the appearance of the demon, the destruction of the wood nymphs, all of it. I think I should chuck it as far away as I can, Dirk."
Dirk rose and. stretched. "I think you should see what the mud puppy wants first," he said.
His gaze shifted and Ben's followed. Rain and gloom almost hid the small, dark shape that crouched a dozen feet away on a scattering of pine needles. It was an odd-looking creature, vaguely reminiscent of a beaver with long ears. It stared back at him with eyes that glowed bright yellow in the dark.
"What is it?" he asked Dirk.
"A wight that scavenges and cleans up after other creatures — a sort of four-legged housekeeper."
"What does it want?"
Dirk managed to look put upon. "Why ask me? Why not ask the mud puppy?"
Ben sighed. Why not, indeed? "Can I do something for you?" he asked the motionless shape.
The mud puppy dropped back down on all fours and started away, turned back momentarily, started away, and turned back again.
"Don't tell me," Ben advised Dirk. "It wants us to follow."
"Very well, I won't tell you," Dirk promised.
They followed the mud puppy through the forest, angling north once more away from the city of Elderew and the people of the lake country. The rain lessened to a slow drizzle, and the clouds began to break, allowing some light to seep through to the forestland. The chill continued to hang in the air, but Ben was so numb with cold already that he no longer noticed. He plodded after the mud puppy in silence, wondering vaguely how the creature got its name, wondering where they were going and why, what he should do about the medallion, and most of all what he should do about Dirk. The cat trailed after him, picking its way with cautious steps and graceful leaps, avoiding the mud and the puddles, and working very hard at keeping itself clean.
Just like your typical cat, Ben thought.
Except that Edgewood Dirk was anything but a typical cat, of course, and it didn't matter how long or how hard he protested otherwise. The real question was, what was Ben going to do about him? Traveling with Dirk was like traveling with that older person who always made you feel like a child and kept telling you not to be one. Dirk was obviously there for a reason, but Ben was beginning to wonder if it was a reason that would serve any useful purpose.
The hardwood trees of the high forest began to give way to swamp as they approached the far north boundary of Elderew. The land began to slope away, and mist to appear in long, winding trailers. The gloom thickened and the chill dampness turned to a clinging warmth. Ben was not comforted.
The mud puppy continued on without slowing.
"Do these creatures do this sort of thing often?" Ben whispered at last to Dirk. "Ask you to follow them, I mean?"
"Never," Dirk responded and sneezed.
Ben scowled back at the cat. I hope you catch pneumonia, he thought darkly.
They passed down into the murk, into stands of cypress and willow and thickets of swamp growth that defied description or identification. Mud sucked at his boots and water oozed into the impressions they left. The rain abated completely, and there was a sullen stillness. Ben wondered what it felt like to be dry. His clothing felt as if it were weighted with lead. The mist was quite heavy now, and his vision was reduced to a distance of no more than a few feet. Maybe we've been brought here to die, he decided. Maybe this is it.
But it wasn't "it" or anything else of immediate concern; it was simply a trek through the swamp that ended at a vast mudhole. The mud puppy brought Ben and Dirk to the mudhole, waited until they were at its edge, and then disappeared into the dark. The mudhole stretched away into the mist and dark for better than fifty feet, a vast, placid sinkhole that belched air bubbles from time to time and evidenced no interest in much else. Ben stared out at the mudhole, glanced down at Dirk, and wondered what was supposed to happen next.
He found out a moment later. The mudhole seemed to heave upward at its centermost point, and a woman rose from the depths to stand upon its surface.
"Good morning, High Lord," she greeted.
She was naked, it appeared, although it was hard to be certain because she was plastered from head to foot with mud, and it clung to her as if it were a covering. There was a glimmer of light from her eyes as they fastened on him; but, except for the eyes, there was only the shape of her beneath the mud. She rested on the surface of the sinkhole as if weightless, relaxed and quite at home.
"Good morning," he replied uncertainly.
"I see that you have a prism cat traveling with you," she said, her voice oddly flat and resonant. "Quite a stroke of good fortune. A prism cat can be a very valuable companion."
Ben was not sure he agreed with that assessment, but held his tongue. Dirk said nothing.
"I am known as the Earth Mother, High Lord," the woman continued. "The name was given to me some centuries ago by the people of the lake country. Like them, I am a fairy creature bound to this world. Unlike them, the choice to come was mine, and it was made at the time of the beginning of the land when there was need for me. I am the soul and spirit of the earth. I am Landover's gardener, you might say. I keep watch over her soil and the things that grow upon it. The province of protection and care of the land is not mine alone, because those who live upon its surface must share responsibility for its care — but I am an integral part of the process. I give possibility from beneath and others see that possibility to fruition." She paused. "Do you understand, High Lord?"
Ben nodded. "I think I do."
"Well, some understanding is necessary. The earth and I are inseparable; it is part of my composition, and I am one with it. Because we are joined, most of what happens within Landover is known to me. I know of you especially, because your magic is also a part of me. There is a bond between Landover's High Lord and the land that is inseparable. You understand that as well, don't you?"
Ben nodded again. "I have learned as much. Is that how you know me now, even with my appearance altered?"
"I know you as the prism cat knows you, High Lord; I never rely on appearances." There was the vaguest hint of laughter, not unkind. "I watched you arrive in Landover and I have followed you since. You possess courage and determination; you lack only knowledge. But knowledge will come in time. This is a land not easily understood."
"It is a bit confusing just now," Ben agreed. Already he liked the Earth Mother a whole lot better than he liked Edgewood Dirk.
"Confusing, yes. But less so than you believe." She shifted slightly within the swirl of mist, her opaque form featureless and immutable. Her eyes glistened wetly. "I had the mud puppy bring you to me so that I could give you some information about Willow."
"You've seen her?" Ben demanded.
"I have. Her mother brought her to me. Her mother and I are close in the manner of true fairy creatures and the earth. We share the magic. Her mother is ill-used by the River Master, who thinks only to possess her and not to accept her for what she is. The River Master seeks to dominate in the manner of humans, High Lord — a great failing that I hope he will come to recognize in time. Possession of the land and her gifts is not meant to be. The land is a trust to be shared by all of finite lives and never to be taken for private use. But that has never been the way of things — not in Landover, not in all the worlds beyond. The higher orders seek to dominate the lower; all seek to dominate the land. An Earth Mother's heart is often broken in that way."
She paused. "The River Master tries, and he is better than some. Still, he, too, seeks domination in other, less obvious ways. He would use his magic to turn the land pure without understanding that his vision is not necessarily true. Healing is needed, High Lord, but not all healing is advisable. Sometimes the process of dying and regeneration is intrinsic to development. A recycling of life is a part of being. No one can predict the whole of the cycle, and a tampering with any period can be harmful. The River Master fails to see this — just as he fails to see why Willow's mother cannot belong to him. He only sees what needs are immediately before him."
"Such as his need for the black unicorn?" Ben interjected impulsively.
The Earth Mother studied him closely. "Yes, High Lord — the black unicorn. There is a need that none can resist — not even you, perhaps." She was silent a moment. "I digress. I brought you here to tell you of Willow. I have felt you with her, and the feeling is good. There is a special bond between you that promises something I have long waited for. I wish to do what I may to preserve that bond."
One dark arm lifted. "Listen, then, High Lord. Willow's mother brought her to me two days ago at dawn. Willow would not go to her father for help, and her mother could not give her what she needed. She hoped that I could. Willow has dreamed twice now of the black unicorn — once when she was with you, once after. The dreams are a mix of truth and lies, and she cannot separate the one from the other. I could not help her with that; dreams are not a province of the earth. Dreams live in the air and in the mind. She asked then if I knew whether the black unicorn was a thing of good or evil. I told her that it would be both until the truth of it was clearly understood. She asked if I could show her that truth. I told her that truth was not mine to give. She asked me then if I knew of a bridle of spun gold. I told her that I did. She has gone to find it."
"Where?" Ben asked at once.
The Earth Mother was silent again for a moment, as if debating something with herself. "High Lord, you must promise me something," she said finally. "I know you are troubled. I know you are afraid. Perhaps you will even become desperate. The road you travel now is a difficult one. But you must promise me that whatever befalls you and however overwhelming your feelings because of it, your first concern will always be for Willow. You must promise that you will do whatever it lies within your power to do to keep her safe."
Ben hesitated a moment before replying, puzzled. "I don't understand. Why do you ask this?"
The Earth Mother's arms folded into her body. "Because I must, High Lord. Because of who I am. That has to be answer enough for you."
Ben frowned. "What if I cannot keep this promise? What if I choose not to keep it?"
"Once the promise is given, it must be kept. You will keep it because you have no choice." The Earth Mother's eyes blinked once. "You give it to me, remember, and a promise given to me by you cannot be broken. The magic binds us in that way."
Ben weighed the matter carefully for several long moments, undecided. It wasn't so much the idea of committing himself to Willow that bothered him; it was the fact of the promise itself. It was a foreclosure of all other options without knowing yet what those options might be, a blind vow that lacked future sight.
But then again, that was how life often worked. You didn't always get the choices offered to you up front. "I promise," he said, and the lawyer part of him winced.
"Willow has gone north," the Earth Mother said. "Probably to the Deep Fell."
Ben stiffened. "The Deep Fell? Probably?"
"The bridle was a fairy magic woven long, long ago by the land's wizards. It has passed through many hands over the years and been all but forgotten. In the recent past, it has been the possession of the witch Nightshade. The witch stole it and hid it with her other treasures. She hordes the things she finds beautiful and brings them out to view when she wishes. But Nightshade has had the bridle stolen from her several times by the dragon Strabo, who also covets such treasures. The theft of the bridle has become something of a contest between the two. It was last in the possession of the witch."
A lot of unpleasant memories surged to the fore at the mention of Nightshade and the Deep Fell. There were a good many places that Ben did not care to visit again soon in the Kingdom of Landover, but the home of the witch was right at the top of the list.
But, then, Nightshade was gone, wasn't she, into the fairy world...?
"Willow left when I told her of the golden bridle, High Lord," the Earth Mother interrupted his thoughts. "That was two days ago. You must hurry if you are to catch her."
Ben nodded absently, already aware of a lightening of the sky beyond the swamp's unchanging murk. Dawn was almost upon them.
"I wish you well, High Lord," the Earth Mother called. She had begun to sink back into the swamp, her shape changing rapidly as she descended. "Find Willow and help her. Remember your promise."
Ben started to call back to her, a dozen unanswered questions on his lips, but she was gone almost at once. She simply sank back into the mudhole and disappeared. Ben was left staring at the empty, placid surface.
"Well, at least I know which way Willow's gone," he said to himself. "Now all I have to do is find my way out of this swamp."
As if by magic, the mud puppy reappeared, slipping from beneath a gathering of fronds. It regarded him solemnly, started away, turned back again, and waited.
Ben sighed. Too bad all of his wishes weren't granted so readily. He glanced down at Dirk. Dirk stared back at, him.
"Want to walk north for a while?" he asked the cat.
The cat, predictably, said nothing.
They were four days gone from Elderew, east and slightly south of Rhyndweir in the heart of the Greensward, when they came upon the hunter.
"Black it was, like the coal brought down out of the north mines, like some shadow that hasn't ever seen the daylight. Sweet mother! It came right past me, so close that it seemed I might reach out and touch it. It was all grace and beauty, leaping as if the earth couldn't hold it to her, speeding past us all like a bit of wind that you can feel and sometimes see, but never touch. Oh, I didn't want to touch it, mind. I didn't want to touch something that... pure. It was like watching fire — clean, but it burns you if you come too close. I didn't want to come too close."
The hunter's voice was quick and husky with emotions that lay all too close to the surface of the man. He sat with Ben and Dirk in the early'evening hours about a small campfire built in the shelter of an oak grove and a ridge-line. Sunset scattered red and purple across the western horizon, and blue-gray dusk hovered east. The close of the day was still and warm, the rain clouds of four nights past a memory. Birds sang their evening songs in the trees, and the smell of flowers was in the air.
Ben watched the hunter closely. The hunter was a big, rawboned man with sun-browned, weathered skin and calloused hands. He wore woodsman's garb with high leather boots softened by hand for comfort and stealth, and he carried a crossbow and bolts, long bow and arrows, a bolo, and a skinning knife. His face was long and high-boned, a mask of angles and flat planes with the skin stretched tightly across and the features strained by the tension. He had the look of a dangerous man; in other times, he might have been.
But not this night. This night he was something less.
"I'm getting ahead of myself," the man muttered suddenly, an admonishment as much as a declaration. He wiped at his forehead with one big hand and hunkered down closer to the flames of the campfire as if to draw their warmth. "I almost wasn't there at all, you know. I was almost gone to the Melchor hunting bighorn. Had my gear all packed and ready when Dain found me. He caught up with me at the crossroads out, running like his woman had found out the worst, calling after me like some fool. I slowed and waited, and that made me the real fool. 'There's a hunt being organized,' he said. 'The King himself has called it. His people are out everywhere, drawing the best and the quickest to net something you won't believe. A black unicorn! Yea, it's so,' he says. 'A black unicorn that's to be hunted down if it takes all month, and we have to chase the beast from valley's end to valley's end. You got to come,' he says. 'They're giving each man twenty pieces a day and food and, if you're the one who snares him, another five thousand!'"
The hunter laughed sullenly. "Five thousand pieces. Seemed like the best chance I'd ever get at the time — more money than I'd see in ten years work any other way. I looked at Dain and wondered if he'd lost his mind, then saw the way his eyes were lit and knew if was all real, that there was a hunt, that there was a bounty of five thousand, that some fool — King or otherwise — believed there was a black unicorn out there to be caught."
Ben glanced momentarily at Dirk. The cat sat a few feet from him, eyes fixed intently on the speaker, paws curled up underneath so that they didn't show. He hadn't moved or spoken since the hunter had come across their tiny camp and asked if he might share their meal. Dirk was to all outward appearances a normal cat. Ben couldn't help wondering what he might be thinking.
"So we went, Dain and me — us and another two thousand of the same mind. We went to Rhyndweir where the hunt was to begin. The whole plain between the split in the rivers was packed tight with hunters camped and waiting. There was beaters and drivers, there was the Lord Kallendbor and all the other high-and-mighty landsmen with all their knights in armor and foot soldiers. There was horses and mules, wagons loaded down with provisions, carriers and retainers, a whole sea of moving parts and sounds that would have frightened any other prey from ten miles distant! Mother's blood, it was a mess! But I stayed on anyway, still thinking about the money, but thinking about something else now, too — thinking about that black unicorn. There wasn't any such creature, I knew — but what if there was? What if it was out there? I might not catch it, but. Lord, just to see it!
"That same evening we were all called before the castle gates. The King wasn't there; his wizard was — the one they call Questor Thews. He was a sight! Patchwork robe and sashes made him look like a scarecrow! And there was this dog with him, that dressed like you and me and walked on his hind legs. Some said he could talk, but I never heard it. They stood up there with the Lord Kallendbor and whispered to him things no one else could hear. The wizard had a face like chalk — looked scared to death. Not Kallendbor, though — not him. He never looks afraid of anything, that one! Sure as death itself and ready to pronounce judgment. He called out to us in that big, booming voice you could hear for a mile on those plains. He called out and told us that this unicorn was a real live beast and it could be tracked and caught like any other beast. There were enough of us and we would have it or know the reason why! He gave us our places and the line of sweep and sent us off to sleep. The hunt was to begin at dawn."
The hunter paused, remembering. His eyes looked past Ben in the growing darkness to some point distant in time and place from where they sat now; "It was exciting, you know. All those men gathered together like that — a hunt greater than any I had ever heard tell. There were to be Trolls north along the Melchor and a number of the fairy tribes south above the lake country. They didn't seem to think the unicorn would be south of there — don't know why. But the plan was to start on the eastern border and drive west, closing the ends north and south like a huge net. Beaters and horsemen would work from the east; hunters and snares would set up west in moving pockets. It was a good plan."
He smiled faintly. "It started right on schedule. The line east began to move west, clearing out everything in its path. Hunters like myself set up in the hill country where we could see everything that moved in the grasslands and beyond. Some rode chaser all along the front and ends, flushing whatever was hidden there. It was something, all those men, all that equipment. Looked like the whole valley was gathered in that one huge hunt. Looked like the whole world. The line came west all that day from the wastelands to Rhyndweir and beyond — beaters and chasers, horsemen and foot soldiers, wagon-loads of provisions going back and forth from castles and towns. Don't know how they got it organized so fast and still made it work — but they did. Never saw a thing, though. Camped that night in a line that stretched from the Melchor down to Sterling Silver. Campfires burned north to south like a big, winding snake. You could see it from the hills where Dain and I were set up with the other hunters. We stayed out of the main camps. We're more at home up there anyway — can see as well at night as in day and had to keep watch so that nothing sneaked past in the dark.
"The second day went the same. We got to the western foothills at the edge of the grasslands, but saw nothing. Camped again and waited. Watched all that night."
Ben was thinking of the time he had wasted since leaving Elderew just to get this far north. Four days. The weather had slowed his travel in the lake country, and he had been forced to skirt east of Sterling Silver to avoid an encounter with the guard — his guard — because they might recognize him as the stranger that the King had ordered out of the country. He had been forced to travel afoot the entire way, because he had no money for horses and was not yet reduced to stealing. He must have missed the hunt by less than twenty-four hours. He was beginning to wonder what that had cost him.
The hunter cleared his throat and continued. "There was some unpleasantness by now among the men," he advised solemnly. "Some felt this was a waste of time. Twenty pieces a day or not, no one wants to be part of something foolish. The Lords were having their say, too, griping that we weren't doing our share, that we weren't watching as close as we should, that something might have sneaked through. We knew that wasn't the case, but that wasn't something they wanted to hear. So we said we'd try harder, keep looking. But we wondered among ourselves if there was anything out there to look for.
"The third day we closed the line west to the mountains, and that's when we found it." The hunter's eyes had suddenly come alive, bright in the firelight with excitement. "It was late afternoon, the sun screened away by the mountains and the mist, and the patches of forest we searched in that hill country were thick with shadows. It was the time of day when everything seems a little unclear, when you see movement where there is none. We were working a heavy pine grove surrounded by hardwood and thick with scrub and brush. There were six of us, I think, and you could hear dozens more all about, and the lines of beaters shouting and calling from just east where the line was closing. It was hot in the hills — odd for the time of day. But we were all worn down to the bone and weary of chasing ghosts. There was a feeling that this hunt had come down to nothing. Sweat and insects made the work unpleasant now; aches and pains slowed us. We had shoved away thoughts of the unicorn beyond completing the hunt and getting home again. The whole business was a joke."
He paused. "Then suddenly there was movement in the pine — just a shadow of something, nothing more than that. I remember thinking that my eyes were playing tricks on me yet another time. I was going to say something to Dain; he was working just off to my left. But I held my tongue — too tired, maybe, to want to say anything. I just sort of stopped what I was doing there in the brush and the heat and I watched the place of the movement to see if there was going to be any more."
He took a deep breath, and his jaw tightened down. "There was this darkening of the little sunlight that remained then — as if clouds had screened it away for a moment. I remember how it felt. The air was all hot and still; the wind had died down into nothing. I was looking, and the brush came apart and there it was — the unicorn, all black and fluid like water. It seemed so tiny. It stood there staring at me — I don't know how long. I could see the goat's feet, the lion's tail, the mane that ran down its neck and back, the fetlocks, that ridged horn. It was just as the old stories described it — but more beautiful than they could ever make it. Sweet mother, it was glorious! The others saw it, too, a few of them anyway. Dain caught a glimpse; another two said they saw it close up. But not as close as me, Lord! No, I was right next to it, it seemed! I was right there!
"Then it bolted. No, not bolted — it didn't flee like that. It bounded up and seemed to fly right past me; all that motion and grace, like the shadow of some bird in flight cast down on the earth by the sun passing. It came by me in the blink of an eye — whisk! — and it was gone. I stood there looking after it, wondering if I'd really seen it, knowing I had, thinking how marvelous it was to view, thinking it truly was real..."
He choked on the words as they tumbled out one after the other, released from his throat in a rush of strange emotion. His hands were raised before him, knotting with the intensity of the telling of his story. Ben quit breathing momentarily, awed by what he was seeing, not wanting to break the spell.
The hunter's eyes lowered then, and the hands followed. "I heard later that it flew right into the teeth of the chase. I heard it went past the whole mess of them like wind through a forest of rooted trees. Dozens saw it. There was a chance to hold it, maybe — but I kind of wonder. It came right over the nets. There was a chase, but... but you know what?" The eyes lifted again. "The unicorn came right up against the Lords of the Greensward and the King's men — right up against them, sweet mother! And the wizard — the very one that organized all this — conjured up some nonsense and it rained flowers and butterflies all over everything. The chase broke up in the confusion, and the unicorn was gone before you could spit!" He smiled'suddenly. "Flowers and butterflies — can you imagine that?"
Ben smiled with him. He could.
The hunter drew up his knees then and hugged them. The smile disappeared. "That was it, then. That was all she wrote. The hunt was done. Everyone sort of broke up and went away after that. There was some talk of continuing, of taking the whole line back east again, but it never came to anything. No one wanted any part of that. It was like the heart had gone out of the chase. It was like everyone was glad the unicorn got away. Or maybe it was just that no one thought it could ever be caught anyway."
The hard eyes lifted. "Strange times we live in. The King sacked the wizard and the dog, I hear. Threw them out the minute he heard what had happened. Just dismissed them out of hand for what the wizard had done — or what he thought he'd done. I don't think the wizard could have done much one way or the other anyway. Not with that creature, not with it. No one could have. It was too much a ghost for anything mortal, too much a dream..."
There were sudden tears in the hunter's eyes. "I think I touched it, you know, when it went past me. I think I touched it. Sweet mother, I can still feel the silk of its skin brushing me, like fire, like... a woman's touch, maybe. I had a woman touch me once that way, long ago. The unicorn felt like that. Now I can't forget it. I try to think of other things, try to be reasonable about the fact of it having happened at all, but the sense of it stays with me." He tightened his face against what he was feeling. "I been looking for it on my own since I left, thinking maybe one man could have better luck than a whole hunting party. I don't want to catch it exactly; I don't think I could. I just want to see it again. I just want to maybe touch it one more time — just once, just for a moment..."
He trailed off again. The campfire sparked suddenly in the stillness, a sharp crackling. No one moved. Darkness had settled down across the valley, and the last daylight had dropped from view. Stars and moons had appeared, their light faint and distant, their colors muted. Ben glanced down at Edgewood Dirk. The cat had his eyes closed.
"I just want to touch it once more," the hunter repeated softly. "Just for a moment."
He stared vacantly at Ben. The ghost of who and what he had been was swallowed in the silence that followed.
* * *
That same night Willow dreamed again of the black unicorn. She slept huddled close to the faithful Parsnip in a gathering of pine at the edge of the Deep Fell, concealed within a covering of boughs and shadows. Her journey north from Elderew was five days gone. She was now only hours ahead of Ben Holiday. The hunt for the black unicorn had delayed her for almost a day as it swept the hill country west of the Greensward and turned her east. She had no idea what the hunt was about. She had no idea that Ben was searching for her.
The dream came at midnight, stealing into her sleep like a mother to her slumbering child's room, a presence that was warm and comforting. There was no fear this time, only sadness. Willow moved through forest trees and grassland spaces, and the black unicorn watched, as if a ghost come from some nether region to trail the living. It appeared and faded like sunshine from behind a cloud, now in the shade of a massive old maple, now in the lea of a copse of fir. It was never all visible, but only in part. It was black and featureless save for its eyes — and its eyes were a mirror of all the sadness that ever was and would ever be.
The eyes made Willow cry, and her tears stained her cheeks as she slept. The eyes were troubled, filled with pain she could only imagine, haunted beyond anything she had believed possible. The black unicorn of this dream was no demon spawn; it was a delicate, wondrous creature that somehow had been terribly misused...
She came awake with a start, the image of the unicorn clearly etched in her mind, its eyes fixed and staring. Parsnip slept next to her, undisturbed. Dawn was still hours away, and she shivered with the night's chill. Her slim body trembled at the whisper of the dream's words in her memory, and she felt the magic of their presence in her fairy way.
This dream was real, she realized suddenly. This dream was the truth.
She straightened back against the pine's roughened trunk, swallowed the dryness in her throat, and forced herself to consider what the dream had shown her. Something required it — the eyes of the unicorn, perhaps. They sought something from her. It was no longer enough to think simply of retrieving the golden bridle and carrying it to Ben. That was the command of her first dream, the dream that had brought her on this quest — but the truth of that dream was now in doubt. The unicorn of that dream was entirely different than the unicorn of this. One was demon, the other victim. One was pursuer, the other... hunted? She thought perhaps so. There was a need for help in the unicorn's eyes. It was almost as if it was begging her for that help.
And she knew she must give it.
She shuddered violently. What was she thinking? If she even came close to the unicorn, she could be lost. She should forget this madness! She should go to Ben...
She let the unfinished thought trail off, huddled down against the night and the stillness, and wrestled with her indecision. She wished her mother were there to comfort her or that she could seek again the counsel of the Earth Mother.
She wished most of all for Ben.
But none of them was there. Except for Parsnip, she was alone.
The moments slipped by. Suddenly she rose, a soundless shadow, left Parsnip asleep in the gathering of pines, and disappeared silently into the Deep Fell. She went not on reason, but on instinct, without doubt or fear, but with certainty that all would be well and she would be kept safe.
By dawn, she had returned. She did not have the golden bridle in her possession, but she knew now where it was. Her fairy senses had told her what even the Earth Mother could not. The bridle had been stolen yet again.
She woke Parsnip, gathered together her few things, cast a brief glance back at the dark bowl of the hollows, and started walking east.
When Ben Holiday and Edgewood Dirk awoke the following morning, the hunter was gone. Neither had heard him leave. He had departed without a word, disappearing so completely that it was almost as if he had never been. Even his face was just a vague memory for Ben. It was only his story of the hunt for the black unicorn that lingered on, still vivid, still haunting.
Breakfast was a solemn affair. "I hope he finds what he's looking for," Ben muttered at one point.
"He can't," Dirk replied softly. "It doesn't exist."
Ben was beginning to wonder about that. The black unicorn seemed as elusive as smoke and about as substantive. The unicorn was seen, but never for more than a few moments and never as more than a fleeting shadow. It was a legend that had assumed a scant few of the trappings of reality, but which remained for all intents and purposes little more than a vision. It was altogether possible that a vision was all the unicorn was — some strayed bit of magic that took form but never body. In Landover, you never knew.
He thought about asking Dirk, but then decided against it. Dirk wouldn't give him a straight answer if he knew one, and he was tired of playing word games with the cat.
He decided to change the subject.
"Dirk, I've been giving some thought to what the Earth Mother told us about the golden bridle," he said when breakfast was finished. "She told Willow that it was last in the possession of Nightshade, but she didn't say anything about what had become of the witch since I sent her into the fairy mists." He paused. "You knew I had done that, didn't you? That I had sent Nightshade into the mists?"
Dirk, seated on an old log, shifted his front paws experimentally. "I knew."
"She sent my friends into Abaddon, and I decided to give her a taste of her own medicine," he went on by way of explanation. "I was given Io Dust by the fairies, a powder that, if breathed, made you subject to the commands of the one who fed you the Dust. I used it later on the dragon Strabo, too, as a matter of fact. At any rate, I used it on Nightshade first and caused her to change herself into a crow and fly off into the mists." Again he paused. "But I never knew what happened to her after that."
"This rather boring recapitulation is leading somewhere, I trust?" Dirk sniffed.
Ben flushed. "I was wondering whether or not Nightshade had found her way out of the mists and back into the Deep Fell. It might help if we knew that before we waltzed blindly on in."
Dirk took a long moment to clean his face, causing Ben's flush to heighten further with impatience. At last the cat looked up again. "I have not been down into the Deep Fell myself in quite some time, High Lord. But I understand that Nightshade might well be back."
Ben took a moment to let the news sink in. The last thing he needed just now was an encounter with Nightshade. He no longer had the medallion to protect him — if indeed it could protect him anyway from a creature as evil as the witch. If she recognized him, he was dead. Even if she didn't, she was hardly likely to welcome him with open arms. And she was hardly likely to welcome Willow either — especially once she learned what the sylph was after. She wasn't about to hand over the golden bridle, however convincing the arguments Willow might offer. She would probably turn Willow into a toad — and turn him into a toad. He thought wistfully of the Io Dust and wished he had just a single handful. That would even the odds considerably.
His eyes fixed intently on Dirk. "What do you think about a quick trip back into the fairy world?" he asked abruptly. "I did it once; I could do it again. The fairies would recognize me, magic or no magic. Maybe they could help me change back again. At the very least, they could give me another pod of the Io Dust to use on Nightshade. After all, I promised the Earth Mother I would do my best to look after Willow, and I can't look after her if I can't look after myself."
Dirk studied him a moment, blinked and yawned. "Your problem is not one anyone else can help you with — least of all the fairies."
"Why not?" Ben snapped, irritated with the cat's insufferable smugness.
"Because, in the first place, the magic that has changed you is your own — as you have been told at least half-a-dozen times now. And in the second place, the fairies won't necessarily help you just because you ask. The fairies involve themselves in people's lives when and where they choose and not otherwise." The prim muzzle wrinkled distastefully. "You knew that before you asked the question, High Lord."
Ben fumed silently. The cat was right, of course — he had known. The fairies hadn't interceded in Landover's problems when he had first come into the valley and the tarnish and the Iron Mark had threatened, and they were unlikely to do so now. He was King, and the problems facing him were his.
So how was he going to solve them?
"C'mon," he ordered suddenly, springing to his feet. "I have an idea that might work." He pulled on his boots, straightened his clothing, and waited for Dirk to ask what the idea was. The cat didn't. Finally, he said, "Don't you want to know the details?"
The cat stretched and jumped down from its perch to stand next to him. "No."
Ben ground his teeth and silently swore that, all right then, it would be a cold day somewhere damn hot before he would say another word about it!
They walked north through the early morning, skirting the grasslands of the Greensward, veering slightly east toward the foothills that lay below the Melchor. Ben led, but as usual Dirk seemed to know where they were going anyway and often traveled a parallel course, picking his way through the high grasses, seemingly oblivious to what Ben was about. Dirk continued to be a mystery without a solution, but Ben forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand rather than dwell on Dirk, because dwelling on Dirk just made him nuts. It was easier to accept the cat the way one accepted changes in the weather.
The grasslands were still marked from the passing of the hunt. Booted feet had flattened portions of the tall grass and broken down the scrub. Debris from the provision wagons littered the plains, and the ashes of huge campfires scarred the multicolored meadows. The Greensward had the look of a giant picnic ground at the close of July fourth. Ben wrinkled his nose in distaste. Meeks was already using the land selfishly again.
There were other signs of misuse as well. Signs of the wilt that had marked the valley in his early days in Landover had returned to the plants and trees-signs that could only have been brought about by a lessening of the power of the King's magic. When there was no King in Landover, the land lost strength; he had learned that on his first visit. Meeks was not the true King, despite any outward appearance, and Landover was beginning to show the effects The signs were tiny yet, but they would grow worse. Eventually, the tarnish would return to Sterling Silver and the whole valley would begin to sicken. Ben pressed ahead at a quicker pace, as if somehow speed might help.
A caravan of traders traveling north into the Melchor to obtain metal implements and weapons from the Trolls crossed their path around midday, and they shared lunch. The gossip was all connected with the hunt for the black unicorn and the strange events of the past few days. The King had gone into seclusion, refusing to see anyone, even the Lords of the Greensward. Public works projects had been put on hold, judicial and grievance councils had been dismissed, envoys had been sent home from Sterling Silver, and everything in general had come to a dead halt. No one knew what was happening. There were rumors of demons flying the night skies, monstrous things that carried off livestock and stray children in the manner that the dragons once had. There were even rumors that the King himself was responsible, that he had made some devil's bargain to give the demons of Abaddon their way in Landover if they in turn would bring him the unicorn.
Everything seemed to revolve around the unicorn. The King had let it be known in no uncertain terms that he meant to have the creature, and the one who brought it to him would be hugely rewarded.
"If you can catch smoke, you're a rich man," one trader joked, and the others all laughed.
Ben didn't laugh. He took his leave hastily and continued north at an even quicker pace. Things were getting out of hand, and a good part of that was clearly his fault.
By midaftemoon, he was in the country of the G'home Gnomes.
The G'home Gnomes were a burrow people he had encountered during his early days as Landover's King. They were small, furry, grimy creatures that looked something like overgrown moles. They were scavengers and thieves and they couldn't be trusted any farther than your pet dog could be with the evening roast. As a matter of fact, they couldn't be trusted with your pet dog, because they considered dogs, cats, and other small domesticated animals quite a delicacy. Abernathy considered the G'home Gnomes cannibals. Questor Thews considered them trouble. Everyone considered them a nuisance. The appellation "G'home Gnome" came from the almost universally expressed demand of those who had the misfortune to come in contact with them: "Go home, gnome!" Two of these gnomes, Fillip and Sot, had made a pilgrimage to Sterling Silver to seek Ben's aid in freeing some of their people from Crag Trolls after the Trolls had carted the unfortunates away for stealing and eating a number of their pet tree sloths. Ben had almost lost his life in that venture, but the G'home Gnomes had proven to be among the most loyal of his subjects — if not the most reformed.
And Fillip and Sot had once confided to him that they knew the Deep Fell as they knew the backs of their hands.
"That's exactly the kind of help we need," Ben told Dirk, despite his vow not to tell the cat anything. "Nightshade will never be persuaded to give up the bridle willingly. Willow has to know that, too — but that won't stop her from trying. She'll probably be direct rather than circumspect; she's too honest for her own good. Whatever the case, if she's gone into the Deep Fell, she's likely in trouble. She'll need help. Fillip and Sot can let us know. They can sneak down without being seen. If Willow or Nightshade is there, they can tell us. If the bridle is there, perhaps they can steal it for us. Don't you see? They can go where we can't."
"Speak for yourself," Dirk replied.
"Do you have a better plan?" Ben snapped back immediately.
Dirk was oblivious to his anger. "I have no plan," he answered. "This is your problem, not mine."
"Thank you very much. I gather you wouldn't consider undertaking this reconnaissance and theft yourself then?"
"Hardly. I am your companion, not your lackey."
"YOU are a pain, Dirk."
"I am a cat, High Lord."
Ben terminated the discussion with a scowl and stalked off toward the burrow community. The G'home Gnomes lived in towns in the same manner as prairie dogs, and sentinels warned of his approach long before he could see anything. By the time he reached the town, there wasn't a G'home Gnome anywhere — just a lot of empty-looking holes. Ben walked to the center of the town, seated himself on a stump and waited. He had been here a number of times since becoming King, and he knew how the game was played.
A few minutes later, Dirk joined him. The cat curled up beside him without a word and closed its eyes against the late afternoon sun.
Shortly after that, a furry face poked up from one of the burrows. Eyes squinted weakly against the daylight, and a wrinkled nose sniffed the air tentatively.
"Good day, sir," the gnome addressed Ben and tipped his battered leather cap with its single red feather.
"Good day," Ben replied.
"Out for a walk, are you, sir?"
"Out for a healthy dose of fresh air and sunshine. Good for what ails you."
"Yes, oh yes indeed, good for what ails you. Must be careful of colds that settle in the throat and chest during the passing of fall."
"Certainly must. Colds can be tricky." They were dancing on eggshells, and Ben let the music play itself out. The G'home Gnomes were like this with strangers — scared to death. One always tested you. If you posed no threat, the rest came out. If any menace was sensed, you never saw more than the one. "I hope your family is well?" Ben went on, trying to sound casual. "And your community?"
"Oh, quite well, thank you, sir. All quite well."
"That's good to hear."
"Yes, good to hear." The gnome glanced about furtively, looking to see if Ben was alone, looking to see if he was hiding anything. "You must have walked quite a distance north from the Greensward, sir. Are you a craftsman?"
"Not exactly."
"A trader, then?"
Ben hesitated a moment and then nodded. "On occasion, I am."
"Oh?" The gnome's squint seemed to deepen. "But you do not appear to have any wares with you this trip, sir."
"Ah! Well, sometimes appearances are deceiving. Some trading wares can be quite small, you know." He patted his tunic. "Pocket-sized."
The gnome's front teeth flashed nervously out of its grimy face. "Yes, of course — that is so. Could it be that you are interested in trading here, sir?"
"Could be." Ben set the hook and waited.
The gnome did not disappoint him. "With someone in particular?"
Ben shrugged. "I have done some business in the past with two members of your community — Fillip and Sot. Do you know them?"
The gnome blinked. "Yes, Fillip and Sot live here."
Ben smiled his most disarming smile. "Are they about?"
The gnome smiled back. "Perhaps. Yes, perhaps. Would you wait a moment, please? Just a moment?"
He ducked back into his burrow and was gone. Ben waited. The minutes slipped past and no one appeared. Ben kept his place on the stump and tried to look as if he were enjoying himself. He could feel eyes watching him from everywhere. Doubts began to creep into his mind. What if Fillip and Sot took a look at him and decided he was no one they had ever seen? After all, he wasn't the Ben Holiday they knew any longer. He was a stranger — and not a particularly well-dressed one either. He glanced down at his clothing, reminded of his sorry state. He made a rather shabby-looking trader, he thought ruefully. Fillip and Sot might decide he wasn't worth their bother. They might decide to stay right where they were. And if he couldn't get close enough to talk to them, he wasn't about to have any success obtaining their help.
The afternoon shadows lengthened. Ben's patience simmered like hot water over an open fire. He glanced irritably at Edgewood Dirk. No help was there. Eyes closed, paws tucked under, breathing slowed to nothing, the cat might have been sleeping or it might have been stuffed.
The burrow holes continued to yawn back at him in empty disinterest. The sun continued to slip into the western hills. No one appeared.
Ben had just about decided to throw in the towel when a furry, dirt-lined face poked up suddenly from a burrow opening not a dozen yards away, closely followed by a second directly beside it. Two snouts sniffed the late afternoon air warily. Two pairs of weakened eyes peered cautiously about.
Ben heaved a sigh of relief. They were Fillip and Sot.
The squinting eyes fixed on him.
"Good day, sir," said Fillip.
"Good day, sir," said Sot.
"Good day, indeed." Ben beamed, sitting up straight again on the stump.
"You wish to trade, sir?" asked Fillip.
"You wish to trade with us?" asked Sot.
"Yes. Yes, I most certainly do." Ben paused. "Would you gentlemen mind coming over here? That way I can be certain you understand what it is that I have to trade."
The G'home Gnomes glanced at each other, then emerged into the fading sunlight. Stout, hairy bodies were clothed in what looked like Salvation Army rejects. Bearded, ferretlike faces with tiny, squinted eyes and wrinkled noses tested the air like weather vanes directed by the wind. Dirt and grime covered them from head to foot.
Fillip and Sot without a doubt.
Ben waited until they had stopped just a few feet in front of him, beckoned them closer still, then said, "I want you to listen to me very closely, do you understand? Just listen. I'm Ben Holiday. I'm High Lord of Landover. A magic has been used to change my appearance, but that's only temporary. I'll change myself back sooner or later. When I do, I'll remember who helped me and who didn't. And I need your help right now."
He glanced from one furry face to the other. The gnomes were staring at him voicelessly, eyes squinting, noses testing. They looked for a moment at each other, then back again at Ben.
"You are not the High Lord," said Fillip.
"No, you are not," agreed Sot.
"Yes, I am," Ben insisted.
"The High Lord would not be here alone," said Fillip.
"The High Lord would come with his friends, the wizard, the talking dog, the kobolds, and the girl Willow — the pretty sylph," said Sot.
"The High Lord would come with his guards and retainers," said Fillip.
"The High Lord would come with his standards of office," said Sot.
"You are not the High Lord," repeated Fillip.
"No, you are not," repeated Sot.
Ben took a deep breath. "I lost all those things to a bad wizard — the wizard who brought me into Landover in the first place, the wizard we saw in the crystal after we freed ourselves from the Crag Trolls — remember? You were the ones who came to Sterling Silver to ask my help in the first place. I went with you to help you free your people from the Trolls — the same gnomes who had eaten the furry tree sloths that were the Trolls' favorite pets. Now if I'm not the High Lord, how do I know all this?"
Fillip and Sot looked at each other again. They looked a bit uncertain this time.
"We don't know," admitted Fillip.
"No, we have no idea," agreed Sot.
"But you are not the High Lord," repeated Fillip.
"No, you are not," agreed Sot.
Ben took another deep breath. "I smashed the crystal against some rocks after we discovered its purpose. Questor Thews admitted his part in its use. You were there, Abernathy and Willow were there, the kobolds Bunion and Parsnip were there. Then we went down into the Deep Fell. You took Willow and me in. Remember? We used Io Dust to turn Nightshade back into a crow and fly her into the fairy mists. Then we went after the dragon Strabo. Remember? How could I know this if I'm not the High Lord?"
The gnomes were shifting their feet as if fire ants had crawled into their ruined boots.
"We don't know," Fillip said again.
"No, we don't," Sot agreed.
"Nevertheless, you are not the High Lord," repeated Fillip.
"No, you are not," repeated Sot.
Ben's patience slipped several notches despite his resolve. "How do you know that I'm not the High Lord?" he asked tightly.
Fillip and Sot fidgeted nervously. Their small hands wrung together, and their eyes shifted here and there and back again.
"You don't smell like him," said Fillip finally.
"No, you smell like us," said Sot.
Ben stared, then flushed, then lost whatever control he had managed to exercise up to this point. "Now you listen to me! I am the High Lord, I am Ben Holiday, I am exactly who I said I was, and you had better accept that right now or you are going to be in the biggest trouble of your entire lives, bigger even than when you stole and ate that pet dog at the celebration banquet after the defeat of the Iron Mark! I'll see you hung out to dry, damn it! Look at me!" He wrenched the medallion from his tunic, covering the face and the image of Meeks with his palm, and thrust it forward like a weapon. "Would you like to see what I can do to you with this?"
Fillip and Sot collapsed prone upon the earth, tiny bodies shaking from head to foot. They went down so fast it looked as if their feet had been yanked from beneath them.
"Great High Lord!" cried Fillip.
"Mighty High Lord!" wailed Sot.
"Our lives are yours!" sobbed Fillip.
"Yours!" sniffled Sot.
"Forgive us, High Lord!" pleaded Fillip.
"Forgive us!" echoed Sot.
Now that's much better, Ben thought, more than slightly astonished at the rapid turnabout. A little intimidation seemed to go a whole lot further than a reasonable explanation with the G'home Gnomes. He was a bit ashamed of himself for having had to resort to such tactics, but he was more desperate than anything.
"Get up," he told them. They climbed to their feet and stood looking at him fearfully. "It's all right," he assured them gently. "I understand why this is confusing, so let's just put it all behind us. All right?" Two ferretlike faces nodded as one. "Fine. Now we have a problem. Willow — the pretty sylph — may be in a lot of trouble, and we have to help her the same way she helped us when the Crag Trolls had us in their pens. Remember?" He was using that word "remember" a lot, but dealing with gnomes was like dealing with small children. "She's gone down into the Deep Fell in search of something, and we have to find her to be certain that she's all right."
"I do not like the Deep Fell, High Lord," complained Fillip hesitantly.
"Nor I," agreed Sot.
"I know you don't," Ben acknowledged. "I don't like it either. But you two have told me before that you can go down there without beeing seen. I can't do that. All I want you to do is to go down there long enough to look around and see if Willow is there — and to look for something that I need that's hidden down there. Fair enough? Just look around. No one has to know you're even there."
"Nightshade came back to the Deep Fell, High Lord," announced Fillip softly, confirming Ben's worst fears.
"We have seen her, High Lord," agreed Sot.
"She hates everything now," said Fillip.
"But you most," added Sot.
There was a period of silence. Ben tried to imagine for a moment the extent of Nightshade's hatred for him and could not. It was probably just as well.
He bent close to the gnomes. "You've been back to the Deep Fell, then?" Fillip and Sot nodded miserably. "And you weren't seen, were you?" Again, the nods. "Then you can do this favor for me, can't you? You can do it for me and for Willow. It will be a favor that I won't forget, I can promise you that."
There was another long moment of silence as Fillip and Sot looked at him, then at each other. They bent their heads close and whispered. Their nervousness had been transformed into agitation.
Finally they looked back at him again, eyes glinting.
"If we do this, High Lord, can we have the cat?" asked Fillip.
"Yes, can we have the cat?" echoed Sot.
Ben stared. He had forgotten Dirk momentarily. He glanced down at the cat, and then back at the gnomes.
"Don't even think about it," he advised. "That cat is not what it seems."
Fillip and Sot nodded reluctantly, but their eyes remained locked on Dirk.
"I'm warning you," Ben said pointedly.
Again the gnomes nodded, but Ben had the distinct feeling that he was addressing a brick wall.
He shook his head helplessly. "Okay. We'll sleep here tonight and leave at daylight." He took an extra moment to draw their attention. "Try to remember what I just said about the cat. All right?"
A third time the gnomes nodded. But their eyes never left Dirk.
Ben ate another Spartan meal of Bonnie Blues, drank spring water, and watched the sun sink into the horizon and night settle over the valley. He thought of the old world and the old life and wondered for the first time in a long time whether he might have been better off staying where he was instead of coming here. Then he pushed his maudlin thoughts aside, wrapped himself in his travel cloak, and settled down against the base of the stump for an uncomfortable night's rest.
Dirk hadn't moved from the stump top. Dirk looked dead.
Sometime during the night there was a shriek so dreadful and so prolonged that it brought Ben right up off the ground. It sounded as if it were almost on top of him; but when he finally got his bearings and peered bleary-eyed about the campsite, all he found was Dirk crouched down atop the stump with his hackles up and a sort of steam rising from his back.
In the distance, something — or someone — whimpered.
"Those gnomes are persistent to the point of stupidity," Dirk commented softly before settling back down again, eyes glistening in the night like emerald fire.
The whimpering faded and Ben lay back down as well.
So much for his well-intentioned advice to Fillip and Sot. Some lessons had to be learned the hard way.
* * *
That same night found an altogether different scene unfolding some miles south of Rhyndweir at an abandoned stock pen and line shack perched on a ridgeline that overlooked the eastern expanse of the Greensward. A sagging roof and shutteriess windows marked the line shack as a derelict, and the stock pen was missing rails in half-a-dozen spots. Shadows draped the whole in a web of black lace. A white-bearded scarecrow and an Ozian shaggy dog, both decidely unkempt, bracketed a brightly burning campfire built a dozen yards or so from the line shack and hurtled accusations at each other with a vehemence that seemed to refute utterly the fact that they had ever been best friends. A wiry, monkey-faced creature with elephant ears and big teeth watched the dispute in bemused silence.
"Do not attempt to ask my understanding of what you have done!" the shaggy dog was saying to the scarecrow. "I hold you directly responsible for our predicament and am not inclined to be in the least forgiving!"
"Your lack of compassion is matched only by your lack of character!" the scarecrow replied. "Another man — or dog — would be more charitable, I am sure!"
"Ha! Another man — or dog — would have bidden farewell to you long ago! Another man — or dog — would have found decent company in which to share his exile!"
"I see! Well, it is not too late for you to find other company — decent or not — if such is your inclination!"
"Rest assured, it is under consideration right now!"
The two glowered at each other through the red haze of the campfire, their thoughts as black as the ashes of the crumbling wood. The monkey-faced watcher remained a mute spectator. Night hung about all three like a mourner's shroud, and the ridgeline was spectral and still.
Abernathy shoved his glasses further back on his nose and picked up the argument once more, his tone of voice a shade softer. "What I find difficult to understand is why you let the unicorn get away, wizard. You had the creature before you, you knew the words that would snare it, and what did you do? You called down a thunderburst of butterflies and flowers. What kind of nonsense was that?"
Questor Thews tightened his jaw defiantly. "The kind of nonsense that you, of all people, should understand."
"I am inclined to think that you simply panicked. I am compelled to believe that you simply failed to master the magic when you needed to. And what do you mean, 'the kind of nonsense that I should understand'?"
"I mean, the kind of nonsense that gives all creatures the chance to be what they should be, despite what others think best for them!"
The scribe frowned. "One moment. Are you telling me that you intentionally let the unicorn escape? That the butterflies and the flowers were not accidental?"
The wizard pulled on his chin whiskers irritably. "Congratulations on your astute, if belated, grasp of the obvious! That is exactly what I am telling you!"
There was a long silence between them as they studied each other. They had been traveling together since daybreak, inwardly seething at the turn of events that had brought them to this end, outwardly distanced from each other by their anger. This was the first time that the subject of the unicorn's escape had been discussed openly.
The moment of testing passed. Questor looked away first, sighed, and pulled his patchwork robes closer about him to ward off the deepening night chill. His face was worn and lined from worry. His clothing was dusty and torn. Abernathy looked no better. They had been stripped of everything. Their dismissal had come immediately after the High Lord had learned of their failure to capture the black unicorn. The High Lord had given them no chance to explain their actions nor had he offered any explanation for his. They had been met on their return to Sterling Silver by a messenger, who had delivered a curt hand-written directive. They were relieved of their positions. They could go henceforth where they chose — but they were never to return to the court.
Bunion, apparently given his choice in the matter, went with them. He had offered no reason.
"It was not my intention when we began the hunt to allow the unicorn to escape," Questor continued softly. "It was my intention that it be captured and delivered to the High Lord just as he had ordered. I believed it a dangerous undertaking because the black unicorn has long been reported a thing of ill fortune. But, then again, the High Lord has shown an extraordinary capacity for turning ill fortune to his advantage." He paused. "I admit I was bothered by his insistence on the unicorn's immediate capture and by his refusal to explain that insistence to us. Yet I still intended that the unicorn be taken." He took a deep breath. "But when I saw the beast before me in that wood, standing there — when I saw what it was... I could not allow it to be taken. I don't know why, I just couldn't. No, that is not true — I do know why. It wasn't right. I could feel inside me that it wasn't right. Didn't you sense it, too, Abernathy? The unicorn was not meant to belong to the High Lord. It was not meant to belong to anyone." He glanced up again uncertainly. "So I used the magic to see that it wouldn't. I let it escape."
Abernathy snapped at something that flew past him, then shoved his dust-encrusted glasses back on his nose and sneezed. "Well, you should have said so sooner, wizard, instead of letting me think that your magic had simply bested you once again. This, at least, I can understand."
"Can you?" Questor shook his head doubtfully. "I wish I could. I have acted against the wishes of the High Lord when I am sworn to his service, and the only reason I can give is that serving him in this instance felt wrong. He was right to dismiss me from the court."
"And me also, I suppose?"
"No, he should not have dismissed you. You had no part in what happened."
"The fact of the matter is, he was wrong to dismiss either of us!"
Questor shrugged helplessly. "He is the High Lord. Who are we to question his judgment?"
"Humph!" Abernathy snorted derisively. "The hunt was an ill-advised exercise of judgment, if ever there was one. He knew the history of the black unicorn. We told him the beast would not be trapped in a hunt, and he completely ignored us. He has never done that before, wizard. I tell you, he is obsessed with this beast. He thinks of nothing else. He has spoken of Willow only once-and that a tirade over her failure to return to him with the golden bridle. He ignores his duties, he keeps to his rooms, and he confides in no one. Not a single mention has been made of the books of magic since you returned them to him. I had hoped that the High Lord might give at least some brief consideration into looking for a way to use them to return me to my former self. Once, the High Lord would have done so without even having to think about it..."
The scribe trailed off self-consciously, glowering at the flames of the little fire. "Well, no matter. The point is, he is not himself these days, Questor Thews. He is not himself."
The wizard's owlish face twisted thoughtfully. "No." He glanced momentarily at Bunion and was surprised to find the kobold nodding in agreement. "No, he most certainly is not."
"Hasn't been since..."
"Since we discovered that impostor in his bed chamber?"
"Since then, yes. Since that night."
They were silent again for a moment. Then their eyes met, and they were startled by what they found mirrored there. "Is it possible that..." Abernathy began uncertainly.
"That the impostor was the High Lord?" Questor finished. He frowned his deepest frown. "I would not have thought so before, but now..."
"There is no way we can be certain, of course," Abernathy interrupted quickly.
"No, no way," Questor agreed.
The fire crackled and spit, the smoke blew across them with a shift in the wind, and sparks danced into the ashes. From somewhere far away, a night bird sounded a long, mournful cry that brought shivers down Questor's spine. He exchanged quick glances with Abernathy and Bunion.
"I hate sleeping out-of-doors," Abernathy muttered. "I don't like fleas and ticks and crawly things trying to assume occupancy of my fur."
"I have a plan," Questor said suddenly.
Abernathy gave him a long, hard look, the kind he always gave when confronted with a pronouncement he would just as soon live without. "I am almost afraid to ask what it is, wizard," he responded finally.
"We will go to the dragon. We will go to Strabo."
Bunion's teeth gleamed in a frightening grin. "That is a plan?" demanded Abernathy, horrified.
Questor leaned forward eagerly. "But it makes perfect sense that we should go to Strabo. Who knows more about unicorns than dragons? Once they were the greatest of enemies — the oldest adversaries in the world of fairy. Now the black unicorn is the last of his kind, and Strabo the last of his. They share a common cause, a natural affinity! Surely we can learn something of the unicorn from the dragon — enough perhaps to unravel its mystery and to discover its purpose in coming to Landover!"
Abernathy stared in disbelief. "But the dragon doesn't like us, Questor Thews! Have you forgotten that? He will roast us for a midday snack!" He paused. "Besides, what good will it do to learn anything more about the unicorn? The beast has caused us trouble enough as it is."
"But if we understand its purpose, we might discover a reason for the High Lord's obsession," Questor replied quickly. "We might even find a way to reinstate ourselves at court. It is not inconceivable. And the dragon will not cause us harm. He will be happy to visit with us once he has learned our purpose in coming. Do not forget, Abernathy, that dragons and wizards share a common background as well. The nature and duration of our professional relationship has always dictated a certain degree of mutual respect."
Abernathy's lip curled. "What a lot of nonsense!" Questor barely seemed to hear him. There was a faraway look in his eye. "There were games played between wizards and dragons in the old days that would challenge the faint of heart, I can tell you. Games of magic and games of skill." He cocked his head slightly. "A game or two might be necessary here if Strabo chooses to be obdurate. Theft of knowledge is a skill I have mastered well, and it would be fun to test myself once more..."
"You are mad!" Abernathy was appalled.
But Questor's enthusiasm was not to be dampened. He came to his feet, excitement in his eyes as he paced the circle of the fire. "Well, no matter. What is necessary must be done. I have made my decision. I shall go to the dragon." He paused. "Bunion will go with me, won't you, Bunion?" The kobold nodded, grinning ear to ear. The wizard's hands fluttered. "There, it is settled. I am going. Bunion is going. And you must come with us, Abernathy." He stopped, hands lowering, tall form stooping slightly as if from the weight of his sudden frown. "We must go, you know. After all, what else is there for us to do?"
He stared questioningly at the scribe. Abernathy stared back, sharing the look. There was a long silence while doubt and uncertainty waged a silent war with self-esteem in the old friends' eyes. There were shadows of times they had believed past come back to haunt their present, and they felt those shadows closing inexorably about. They could not permit that. Anything was better than waiting for such suffocating darkness.
The ridgeline was still again,, a dark spine against a sky of stars and moons that seemed cold and distant. The line shack and the stock pen were the bones of an aging earth.
"Very well," Abernathy agreed, sighing his most grievous sigh. "We will all be fools together."
No one spoke up to dispute him.