Ben Holiday came awake again in a deeply shaded forest glade that smelled of moss and wild flowers. Birds sang in the trees, their songs bright and cheerful. A small stream wound through the center of the clearing from the woodlands and disappeared back into them again. There was a stillness that whispered of peace and solitude.
Ben was lying on a patch of grass staring up into a network of branches set against the cloudless sky. A glimpse of the sun peeked through the leaves. He pushed himself carefully upright, aware that his clothes were singed and his hands and arms covered with soot. He took a moment to check himself, feeling about for permanent injuries. There were none — only bumps and bruises. But he looked as if he had rolled through half-a-dozen campfires.
"Feeling better, High Lord?"
He turned at the sound of the familiar voice and found Edgewood Dirk sitting comfortably atop a large, mossy rock, paws tucked carefully away. The cat blinked sleepily and yawned.
"What happened to me?" Ben asked, realizing that this clearly wasn't where he had started out; this wasn't the meadow where he had lost consciousness. "How did I get here?"
Dirk stood up, stretched, and sat down again. "I brought you. It was quite a trick, actually, but I have gotten rather good at using energy to transport inert objects. It did not seem advisable to leave you lying about in that burned-out meadow."
"What about the others? What about Willow and..."
"The sylph is with the black unicorn, I imagine. I wouldn't know exactly where. Your companions were scattered in every which direction. That last explosion sent them all flying. Such magic is best left unused. Too bad Meeks cannot understand that."
Ben blinked away a final rush of dizziness and studied the cat. "He knew who you were, didn't he?"
"He knew what I was."
"Oh. How is that, Dirk?"
The cat seemed to consider the question. "Wizards and prism cats have crossed paths a few times before, High Lord."
"And not as friends, I gather?"
"Not usually."
"He seemed frightened of you."
"He is frightened of many things."
"He's not alone in that respect. What happened to him?"
"He lost interest in the fight and flew off on his pet demon. He has gone for the books of magic, I would guess. He believes he requires their power. Then he will be back. He will hunt you all down this time out, I think. You had better prepare yourself."
Ben went cold. Slowly he straightened himself, feeling the kinks in his body loosen. "I have to find the others," he began, trying to think his way through the wall of fear and desperation that quickly settled in. "Damn! How am I supposed to do that?" He started up, slowed as a dizziness swept through him, and dropped back to one knee.
"How am I supposed to help them at all, for that matter? I would have been finished back there if not for you. This whole business has gotten completely out of hand. I'm no better off than I was the day Meeks had me thrown out of the castle. I still don't know why it is that no one can recognize me. I still don't have any idea how Meeks got hold of the medallion. I still don't know what he wants with the black unicorn. I don't know one thing more than I ever did about what is going on!"
Dirk yawned anew. "Don't you?"
Ben didn't hear him. "I'll tell you one thing. I can't handle this by myself. I never could. There isn't any point in kidding myself; I have to have help. I'm going to do what I should have done in the first place. I'm going into the mists, medallion or no medallion, and find the fairies. I'll do what I did before. I'll find them and ask them for a magic that will let me stand up to Meeks. They helped me with Nightshade; they'll help me with Meeks. They have to."
"Ah, but that's not true, is it?" Dirk asked softly. "The fairies help only when they choose. You know that, my dear High Lord. You have always known that. You cannot demand their aid; you can only wish for it. The choice of giving or withholding it is always theirs."
"It doesn't matter." Ben shook his head stubbornly. "I'm going into the mists. When I find them, I'll..."
"If you find them," Dirk interrupted.
Ben paused, then flushed. "It would be nice to have some encouragement from you for a change! What makes you think I won't find them?"
Dirk regarded him for a moment, then sniffed the air. All about, the birds continued to sing indifferently. "Because they don't want you to find them. High Lord," the cat said finally. He sighed. "You see, they have already found you."
There was a long moment of silence as Ben and the cat stared at each other, eyes locked. Ben cleared his throat. "What?"
Dirk's eyes lidded to half-mast. "High Lord, who do you think sent me?"
Ben sat back down slowly, crossed his legs before him, and dropped his hands into his lap. "The fairies sent you?" The cat said nothing. "But why? I mean, why you, Dirk?"
"You mean, why a cat? Why not a dog? Or a lion or a tiger? Or another Paladin, for that matter? Is that what you mean?" Dirk's fur ruffled on the nape of his neck and down the arch of his back. "Well, a cat is all that you need or deserve, my dear High Lord! More, in point of fact! I was sent to arouse your consciousness — to make you think! I was not sent to provide salvation! If you want salvation, you will have to find it within yourself! That is the way it has always been and that is the way it will always be!"
He stood up, jumped down from the rock, and strode deliberately up to an astonished Ben. "I am tired of pussy-footing around with you. I have told you everything you need to know to counteract the magic that has been used against you. I have done everything but shove your nose in the truth of matters, and that I cannot do! That is forbidden! Fairy kind never reveal truth to mortal creatures. But I have kept you safe on your journey when you needed keeping safe, though you haven't needed it nearly so often as you believed. I have watched over you and guided you when I could. Most important of all, I have kept you thinking and that in turn has kept you alive!" He paused. "Well, all that is finished now. Your time for thinking is just about up!"
Ben shook his head quickly. "Dirk, I can't just..."
"Let me finish!" the cat snapped. "When in the world will humans learn to start listening to cats?" The green eyes narrowed. "The fairies sent me to help you, High Lord, but they left it to me to choose the means. They did not advise me on what I was to do or say. They did not tell me why it was that they believed I could help. Such is not the way of the fairies — nor is it the way of cats! We do as we choose in any case and live our lives as we must. We play games because that is who we are. Cat games or fairy games, it is all very much the same. Ours, High Lord, is a much different world from your own!"
One paw lifted. "Hear me well, then. No one is entitled to be given answers to the problems that beset them. No one is given life on a silver platter — cat or King! If you wish to know the truth of things, you must find it out for yourself. If you wish to understand what puzzles you, reason it through for yourself. You believe yourself mired in insolvable dilemmas. You believe yourself incapable of breaking free. Your identity is gone, your kingdom stolen. Your enemies beset you, your friends are lost. It is a chain of complications in which the links are joined, Ben Holiday. Cut free a single link, and the chains fall apart! But you are the one who carries the cutters — not me, not anyone else. That is what I have been trying to tell you from day one! Do you understand?"
Ben nodded hastily. "I understand."
The paw lowered again. "I hope so. Now I will say this one more time. The magic you struggle against is magic of deception — a mirror that alters in its reflection truths and makes them half-truths and lies. If you can see past the mirror, you can set yourself free. If you can set yourself free, you can help your friends. But you had better get busy!"
He stretched, turned, walked several paces away, and turned back again. The forest glade was quiet now; even the birds in the trees had gone still. Sunlight continued to shine out of the skies from overhead, casting the dappled shadows of the leaves and branches across the clearing beneath, leaving Ben and Dirk spotted and striped.
"The dark wizard is frightened of you, Ben Holiday," Dirk advised softly. "He knows you to be close to the answers you need to break free, and he will try to destroy you before that can happen. I have given you the means to find the answers that will defeat him. Use those means. You are an intelligent man. You have been a man who has spent his life ordering other men's lives. Man of law, man of power — order now your own!"
He moved soundlessly to the glade's edge, never looking back. "I have enjoyed our time together, High Lord," he called back. "I have enjoyed our travels. But they are over for now. I have other places to be and other appointments to keep. I will think of you. And one day, perhaps, I will see you again."
"Wait, Dirk!" Ben called after, coming suddenly to his feet, fighting against the continuing dizziness.
"I never wait, High Lord," the cat replied, now almost lost in shadow. "Besides, there is nothing more I can do for you. I have done everything I can. Good luck to you."
"Dirk!"
"Remember what I told you. And try listening to cats once in a while, would you?"
"Dirk, damn it!"
"Good-bye."
And with that Edgewood Dirk disappeared into the forest and was gone.
Ben Holiday stared after the cat for a long time following its departure, half expecting that it would return. It didn't, of course, just as he had known all along somewhere deep inside that it wouldn't. When he finally accepted the fact, he quit looking for it and began to panic. He was all alone for the first time since being cast out of Sterling Silver — all alone and in the worst predicament of his life. He was without his identity or his medallion, and he had no idea at all how to regain either. Edgewood Dirk, his protector, had deserted him. Willow had disappeared with the black unicorn, still believing him. the stranger he appeared to be. His friends were scattered to heaven-knew-where. Meeks had gone for the books of magic and would return shortly to put an end to him.
And here he sat, waiting for it to happen.
He was stunned. He could not seem to think clearly.
He tried to reason, to think what he should do next, but everything seemed to jumble up, the problems and needs fighting for equal time in his thoughts. He rose, his motions mechanical, his eyes dead, and walked to the edge of the little stream. He glanced once more after Dirk, saw only empty forest, and turned back again, a feeling of bleak resignation settling through him. He knelt down beside the stream and splashed water on his soot-blackened face, rubbing it into his eyes. The water was like ice, and it sent a shock through his system. He splashed some more on, throwing it up over his head and shoulders, letting the cold galvanize him.
Then he sat back, the water dripping off his face, his eyes looking down into the stream.
Reason it through, he admonished himself. You have all the answers. Dirk said you had all the answers. So what in the hell are they?
He resisted an almost overwhelming urge to leap up and charge off into the trees. He forced himself to stay put. Action would have been more immediately gratifying — the sense of doing something, anything, better than just sitting around. But running about heedlessly wasn't what the situation called for; thinking was. He had to know what he was doing, had to understand once and for all what had happened.
Links in a chain, Dirk had said. All his problems were links in a chain, all locked together. Cut one, and the chain would fall apart. Okay. He would do that. He would cut that link. But which link should he cut?
He looked down into the waters of the stream, staring at the rippling reflection of his image. A distorted version of Ben Holiday's face glimmered back at him. But it was he, not someone else, not the stranger everyone else saw. What was it that made others see him differently? A mask, Dirk had said — and he was disappearing into it. He stared at himself for a long moment, then looked up again, focusing on a random gathering of wild flowers several yards beyond, seeing them and seeing nothing.
Magic of deception, Dirk had said.
Whose magic? Whose deception?
His own, the River Master had said. The River Master had offered to help, had tried in fact, but in the end couldn't. The magic at work was magic of Ben's own making, the River Master had said — and only he could act to break its hold.
But what magic had he used?
He tried to think it through, but couldn't. Nothing would come. He rocked back on his heels beside the little stream, hunched down in the shadows of the mountain glade and let his mind wander freely for a moment. It all went back to that night in his bedchamber in Sterling Silver when Meeks had appeared before him from out of nowhere. That was when everything had gone wrong and he had lost the medallion. Something grated at the memory, and he grasped futilely at it. He had lost the medallion, he had lost his identity, he had lost his magic, he had lost his kingdom. A chain of links that needed breaking, he thought. He recalled his shock at finding the medallion gone. He remembered his fear.
A sudden thought struck him, and a memory stirred. The fairies had said something to him once about fear. It had been the only time they had spoken to him, long ago now, back when he had gone into the mists in search of the Io Dust, back when he had first come into Landover and been forced to fight to gain recognition for his right to the throne — just as he was fighting now. What was it they had said? Fear has many disguises. You must learn to recognize them when next they come for you.
He frowned. Disguises? Masks? Not much difference between the two, he mused. He had wondered what the words had meant. He found himself wondering again now. At the time, he thought they had referred to his impending encounter with the Iron Mark. But what if they had referred to what was happening to him now — to the fear he was experiencing over the loss of the medallion?
Could the fairies have foreseen that loss so long ago? Or was the warning simply generic, simply...
About the magic of this land?
Self-consciously, he reached within his tunic and brought forth the medallion he now wore, the medallion Meeks had given him, its face graven with the dark wizard's harsh visage. It all began here — the questions, the mysteries, a jumble of events that had swept him away from everything sane into this mire of fear and doubt. How could it have happened, he wondered for at least the hundredth time? How could he have lost the medallion without knowing it? How had Meeks gotten the medallion from him when only he could remove it? It didn't make sense! Even if he had removed it, why couldn't he remember removing it?
Unless he hadn't!
There was a sudden, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Oh, God!
Unless he was still wearing it!
Something had nudged his thinking a step farther than it had gone before. He could almost see the cutters working on his chains. Self-deception, Dirk had said. Magic of his own making, the River Master had said. Damn! He felt his breath begin to come in short, ragged gasps of excitement; he could hear his chest pounding. It made sense. It was the only answer that had ever made sense. Meeks couldn't take the medallion from him unless he removed it himself, but he couldn't remember removing it, and the reason he couldn't remember removing it was because he never had removed it!
Meeks had simply made him think so.
But how?
He tried to think it through a step at a time. His hands were shaking with excitement, the medallion spinning in their grip. He still wore the medallion of the High Lords of Landover; he simply hadn't realized it. Was that possible? His mind raced ahead, exploring the possibilities, whispering to him in a quick, urgent voice. He still wore the medallion! Meeks had simply disguised it somehow, made him think it wasn't the real medallion, just a substitute. That would explain why Meeks hadn't simply finished him off in his bedchamber. Meeks was afraid that the Paladin might still appear — that the disguise was too new, too thin perhaps. That's why the wizard had let him go after giving him the strange warning about not taking off the substitute medallion. He had expected Ben to question that warning sooner or later. He had hoped Ben would take off the medallion and throw it away, thinking he was breaking free. Then Meeks would have had the medallion for good!
His mind spun. The language, he thought suddenly! How could he still communicate in the language of Landover if he wasn't wearing the medallion? Questor had told him long ago that the medallion was the reason be could understand the land's language, could write it, and could speak it! Why hadn't he thought of that before? And Questor — Questor had always wondered how Meeks got the medallion back from failed candidates for the kingship who refused to return it voluntarily. He would have done it something like this! He would have tricked them into taking it off, thinking they had already lost it!
My God! Could all this be possible?
He took a deep breath to steady himself. Could it be anything else? He tacked on a negative answer immediately. It was the only answer that made any sense. The winged demon hadn't broken off the attack on the River Master's nymphs at Elderew because of Dirk; it had flown off because it had seen the medallion held in Ben's hands and been frightened of its power. The demon had recognized the truth when Ben couldn't. Magic had disguised the truth from Ben — magic Meeks had employed that night in his bedchamber — an old magic, Ben thought suddenly. That was what Nightshade had said to Strabo. That was why only the witch and the dragon could recognize it!
But how did the magic work? What was needed to break its spell? Was it this same magic that had changed his identity?
The questions tumbled over one another in their efforts to be answered. Deception — that was the key word, the word Dirk had used repeatedly. Meeks must have used his magic to deceive Ben into believing the medallion he wore was another than his own. And Ben had believed the deception to be the truth. He had let the deception become his own. Damn! He had built his own prison! Meeks must have caused him to dream that he had given up the medallion, and he had convinced himself of its truth!
In which case, shouldn't he be able simply to...
He couldn't finish the thought. He was afraid to finish it, afraid he might be wrong. He took another deep breath. It didn't matter that he finish it. It mattered only that he test it. He would have to test it to know for sure.
He stared down again into the stream, watching his face shimmer and change with the movement of the water. His mask, he thought — not to him, but to everyone else. He steadied himself, then held the medallion out before him, hands grasping the chain, the visage of Meeks dangling and spinning slowly, reflecting the sunlight in small glimmerings of dull silver. He slowed his breathing deliberately, his heartbeat, and time itself. He focused his gaze on the tarnished image, watching the spinning motion slow, watching until the medallion was almost perfectly still. He shoved the image he was seeing from his mind and substituted in its place a picture from his memory of the Paladin riding out from the gates of Sterling Silver against the sunrise. He looked past the tarnish and the wear and envisioned polished silver. He gave himself over to his vision.
Remember, what you're seeing is all a lie, he told himself. Just a lie.
But nothing happened. The medallion before him continued to reflect the image of Meeks. He fought down a renewed surge of panic and forced himself to remain calm. Something more was needed. Something.
His mind sifted, considering and discarding possibilities. He kept his eyes focused on the medallion. The mountain forest was still about him, the silence complete save for brief snatches of bird songs and the rustle of the wind through the leaves. He was right about this; he knew he was right. Break the first link, and the others would follow. The chain would fall apart. He would become himself again, the power of the Paladin would return, and his magic would be freed. He need only find a key...
He caught himself in midthought. Slowly his fingers eased along the length of chain to the medallion itself. Lightly they caressed the tarnished surface, then gathered the talisman into his palms. Its feel was abhorrent to him — but then Meeks would want it that way. His hands closed. He held the medallion, gripped it tightly, felt its surface, its graven image, and envisioned not Meeks, but the Paladin riding out of Sterling Silver, riding out at sunrise, riding to him...
Something began to happen. The medallion grew warm to the touch, and there was a barely perceptible change in its feel. He gripped it harder, the image he knew to be hidden there locked firmly in the forefront of his thoughts. He closed his eyes. The image was a beacon of whiteness that became his only light. The medallion burned, but he kept his grip on it. He could sense a shifting in its surface as if something were falling away, a skin being shed. Yes! The burning continued, then flared sharply, spread through the whole of his body, lifted away, and dissipated into air.
Coolness returned. Slowly he opened his eyes, then his fingers. He looked down at the medallion that nestled in his palm. It was bright and untarnished. He could see himself mirrored in its surface. The image of the Paladin glimmered back at him.
He permitted himself a huge, almost foolish smile. He had been right after all. The medallion had been his all along.
The chain that had bound him was broken!
Willow stirred, consciousness returning as she made the slow, languid slide out of slumber. The sun was warm upon her skin, and tall grasses tickled her face. She blinked, squinted against the sudden brightness, and let her eyes close again. She had dreamed — or had she? She had flown on a cloud, riding wind currents that whipped and buffeted her and bore her over all the world as if she were a bird on wing. She blinked again, feeling the press of the earth against her back. She had been so free.
Then the drifting sensation slipped from her, and a sudden return of memory jarred her completely awake. She sat upright with a start. There had been no dream. There had been only the reality of her flight from Meeks, the winged demon, the others...
A shudder passed through her body. She forced her eyes open again, squinting against the sunlight. She sat within a wide clearing in a grove of hardwood trees and scattered pines almost within the shadow of Mirwouk.
The walls of the ancient fortress loomed behind her, jagged heights rough against the afternoon sky. Flowers dotted the hillside which spread away below her, their smells filling the still, humid air. The whole of the mountains about her were strangely silent.
Her eyes shifted. A dozen feet away, the black unicorn stood looking at her, the bridle of spun gold still fastened about its slender head.
"I rode you," she whispered almost soundlessly.
The memory was a jumble of images and feelings that washed over her like ice water and shocked her with their intensity. She had barely known what she was doing when she had pulled herself atop the unicorn's back, terrified by what was happening about her, frantic to escape its horror. Nothing was what it appeared — not Ben, not the stranger who claimed to be Ben, not that cat, nothing. There was fire and destruction all about — such hatred! She had only thought to flee, and something in the touch of the unicorn's body against her own as it had surged past had drawn her after. Hands on the golden bridle, fingers locking in the mane, on the sleek body, and about the slender neck, her own face pressed close... The images stirred and vanished, feelings more than pictures, a whisper of need and want.
Her breath came in a small gasp. She had mounted the black unicorn without thinking, and her flight — for that indeed was what it had been — had been magical. There had been no sense of place or time; there had been only an acute sense of being. The unicorn had done more than carry her away from that meadow. The unicorn had carried her away from herself, down inside herself to see all about who and what she was and might be, until the thought of it had left her dazed and filled with wonder. The unicorn had shown her a texture and meaning to life that she would never have believed possible. Just its touch had been enough; nothing more was needed. There were tears in her eyes as she remembered how it had felt. The images were strangely clouded now, but the emotions she had experienced remained sharp and clear. How glorious it had been!
She brushed at the tears and let her gaze meet that of the watching unicorn. It still waited on her. It did not run as it might have, perhaps as it should. It simply waited.
But what was it waiting for? What did it want from her?
Confusion swept through her. The truth of the matter was that she didn't know. She looked into the emerald eyes of the black unicorn and wished the fairy creature could tell her. She needed to know. Here it was, this wondrous being, waiting almost resignedly while she pondered, waiting on her once more — and she didn't have any idea at all what she should do. She felt helpless and afraid. She felt herself a fool.
But she knew she could not afford such feelings, and she blocked them roughly from her mind. Meeks might still hunt them — probably did. That cat, whatever it was, would not delay the wizard long. He would come after her, after the unicorn, after them both. Meeks wanted the black unicorn; the stranger had been right about that. That meant that the stranger might have been right about the dreams as well.
And that, in turn, meant that the stranger might really be Ben.
A twinge of desperate longing raced through her, but she brushed it quickly aside. There was no time to consider the possibility now. The black unicorn was in immediate danger, and she had to do something to help it. It was clearly waiting on her, depending on her, and expecting something from her. She had to find out what.
There was only one way. She knew it instinctively. She would have to touch the unicorn, expose herself to its magic. She would have to open herself to its vision.
She breathed deeply, slowly, trying to steady herself. The sudden fear she experienced made her queasy. She was proposing the unthinkable. No one touched a unicorn and was ever herself again. No one. Oh, yes, she had touched the fairy creature already — a brushing against its body as she slipped the golden bridle in place and a clinging as she rode it to safety from that meadow. But both times she had been barely aware of what she was doing; it had all been something from a brief, wondrous dream that might never have been. What she would do now was entirely different, willful and deliberate, and she would be risking everything she was. The legends were uniform. Unicorns belonged to no one but themselves. Touch one and you were lost.
Yet she was going to do it anyway. The decision had already been made. The black unicorn was more than a legend out of tales a thousand years old, more than the dream that had drawn her on, more even than the reality of its physical being. It was an inescapable want that was an integral and undeniable part of her, a mystery that she must solve. The emerald eyes of the creature reflected her most secret urgings. She could keep nothing of herself hidden. Her own body betrayed her, its need for the unicorn an irresistible force. There was desire in her that surpassed anything she had ever known. The dangers that the black unicorn might pose, imagined or real, paled beside such desire. She had to solve its puzzle, whatever the cost. She had to know its truth.
She went hot and cold and she felt feather light as she rose and started forward. She was trembling, the horror and the anticipation mixing within her in equal measures, driving her reason from her, and leaving only her need.
Oh, Ben, she thought desperately! Why aren't you here?
The black unicorn waited patiently, an ebony statue in the dappled shadows, eyes locked on Willow's. There was a curious sense of its both not and always being mirrored in the sylph — as if it were her most carefully guarded wish, projected into being from her mind.
"I have to know," she whispered to the unicorn as she stood at last before it.
Slowly, her hands came up.
* * *
The meadow, once grassy and bright with wild flowers, lay in ruins, a charred, smoking stretch of barren earth amid the forest trees. Questor Thews stood at its edge and peered futilely through the haze. He was covered with dust and ash, his tall, stooped figure more ragtag in appearance than ever, gray robes and colored silks singed and torn, harlequin leather boots scuffed and smudged. That last exchange of magic between Meeks, the demon, and Edgewood Dirk had sent him flying. The wind had been knocked from him, and he'd found himself resting rather precariously in the branches of an aged crimson maple, an object of great delight for the squirrels and birds nesting there. Abernathy, the kobolds, and the gnomes were nowhere to be seen. Ben Holiday, Willow, and the black unicorn had disappeared. Questor had climbed down from that maple and gone searching for them all. He hadn't found a one.
Now his wanderings had brought him back to where he had last seen any of them. And none of them appeared to be here either.
He sighed deeply, his owlish face lined with worry. He wished he knew more of what was going on. He accepted now that the stranger who claimed to be Ben Holiday was in fact who he said he was; the man who appeared to be Ben Holiday was in fact Meeks. The dreams Willow, Ben, and he had experienced had been, in fact, the creations of his half-brother, all part of some bigger plan to gain control over Landover and the magic. But acceptance of all this gained him nothing. He still didn't know what the black unicorn had to do with anything nor did he understand yet what plan Meeks was trying to implement. Worst of all, he didn't have any idea at all how to find any of this out.
He rubbed his bearded chin and sighed again. There had to be a way, of course. He just had to figure it out.
"Hmmmmm," he mused thoughtfully. But his thinking produced nothing.
He shrugged. Well, there was nothing more to be accomplished by standing about.
He started to turn away and found himself face to face with Meeks. His half-brother had reverted to his normal form, a tall, craggy figure with grizzled white hair and hard, dead eyes. Dark blue robes cloaked his body like a shroud. He stood less than a dozen yards away, just a step or two back in the trees from the clearing's edge. The black-gloved hand of his one good arm cradled the missing books of magic close against his chest.
Questor Thews felt his stomach lurch.
"I have waited a long time for this moment," Meeks whispered. "I have been very patient."
Dozens of random thoughts rushed through Questor's mind and were gone, leaving only one. "I am not frightened of you," he said quietly.
His half-brother's face was unreadable. "You should be, Questor. You think yourself a wizard now, but you are an apprentice still. You will never be more than that. I have power you never even dreamed could exist! I have the means to do anything!"
"Except catch the black unicorn, it appears," Questor answered bravely.
The dead eyes flickered briefly with rage. "You understand nothing — not you, not Holiday, not anyone. You play a game you cannot win and you play it poorly. You are a distraction to be removed." The pale, creased face was a death mask. "I have endured exile and a disruption of my plans — all brought about by you and this play-King — and neither of you understands yet what it is that you have done. You are pathetic!"
The dark robes seemed to twitch where the right sleeve hung empty. "Your time in this world and life is just about over, half-brother. You stand alone. That prism cat no longer threatens me. Holiday is helpless and abandoned. The sylph and the black unicorn have nowhere left to run. Your other friends are already mine — all but the dog, and the dog is of no consequence."
Questor felt his heart sink. The others were prisoners — all but Abernathy?
Meeks smiled now, a cold, empty smile. "You were the last possible threat to me, Questor. And now I have you."
Questor stiffened, anger pushing back his fear. "You do not have me yet! Nor will you ever have me!"
The other's laugh was soundless. "Won't I?"
His head inclined slightly, and dozens of shadows slipped from behind the trees all about him. The shadows materialized with the light into small, crooked children with pointed ears, wizened faces, and scaled bodies. Pig snouts sniffed the forest air and serpent tongues slipped between rows of sharpened teeth.
"Demon imps!" Questor exclaimed softly.
"Rather a few too many for you to do much about, wouldn't you say?" His half-brother's words hissed at him with undisguised pleasure. "I don't care to waste my time with you, Questor. I prefer to leave you to them."
The demon imps had completely surrounded Questor, eyes bright and anxious, tongues licking their snouts. Meeks was right. There were too many. Nevertheless, he held his ground. There was no point in trying to run. His only chance was to catch them off guard...
They had closed to within half-a-dozen yards, a tight circle of ugly little faces and sharp teeth, when Questor whirled about, hands pinwheeling, and sent them all flying with a burst of magic. Smoke and steam geysered from out of nowhere, flinging them away, and Questor was loping desperately back into the concealing shadows of the forest, leaping over the squirming, momentarily blinded demon imps as if they were mud puddles. Squeals of rage chased after him. The demon imps were up and skittering in pursuit almost instantly. He whirled to face them. Again he sent an explosion of magic into their midst, and again they were scattered. But there were so many! They came at him from everywhere, cluttering and squealing, grasping at his robes. He tried to defend himself, but it was too late. They were all over him, pulling at him, pinning his arms to his body. He swayed with the weight of them and toppled over.
Clawed hands fastened to his clothing, then to his throat. He began to choke, unable to breathe. He struggled valiantly, but there were dozens holding him down. Flashes of light danced before his eyes.
He had just a momentary glimpse through the tangle of demon imps of a smiling Meeks standing over him before he blacked out.
* * *
Willow's hands were inches from the black unicorn's delicate ebony head when she heard a faint rustling of leaves and brush, the sound of someone approaching through the trees. She drew back quickly from the unicorn, startled, wary.
A moment later, a shaggy head pushed out from the foliage and peered about intently through eyeglasses knocked partially askew by a veil of interlocking pine boughs.
It was Abernathy.
"Willow, is that you?" the scribe asked in disbelief.
He shoved past the remaining branches and stepped into the clearing. His dress clothes were in shreds, the greater part of his tunic torn from his body. His boots were gone completely. His fur was singed and his face looked as if it had been shoved into an ash pit. He was panting heavily, and his tongue licked out at his black nose.
"I have had better days, I want you to know," he declared. "I may have had worse, but I cannot remember when. First, I traipse all over creation in search of you and this... this animal for heaven knows what reason, because I surely do not, then we find, not just you and it, but Meeks and his demon as well, then the cat appears and there is a pointless exchange of magic that seems to do little more than fire up a whole section of the forest, and finally we are all scattered to the four winds and no one can find anyone!"
He gulped a chestful of air, gave out a long sigh and glanced about. "Have you seen any of the others?"
Willow shook her head, distracted. "No, none of them." Her thoughts were of the unicorn, of the need that consumed her, of her desire to reach out and touch...
"What are you doing here?" Abernathy asked suddenly, the sound of his voice startling her. The scribe saw her consternation. "Is something wrong, Willow? What are you doing with the unicorn? You know how dangerous that creature is. Come away, now. Come over and let me look at you. The High Lord would want..."
"Have you seen him?" she demanded sharply, the mention of Ben a lifeline for which she quickly grasped "Is he close?"
Abernathy shoved his glasses further up his nose. "No, Willow — I haven't seen him. He was lost with the rest of us." He paused. "Are you all right?"
The lifeline disappeared. She nodded without speaking. She felt the heat of the afternoon sun, the swelter of the day, and the closeness of the air. She was in a prison that threatened to bury her. The sounds of birds and insects faded into silence, the presence of Abernathy lost meaning, and her desire for the black unicorn consumed her anew. She turned from the scribe and began to reach again for the beast.
"Wait!" Abernathy fairly shouted. "What are you doing, girl? Do not touch that creature! Don't you realize what will happen to you?"
"Stay away from me, Abernathy," she replied softly, but hesitated nevertheless.
"Are you as mad as the rest of them?" the dog snapped angrily. "Has everyone gone crazy? Doesn't anyone but me understand what is happening? The dreams are a lie, Willow! Meeks brought us to this place, tricked us into serving his interests, and made fools of us all! That unicorn is probably something that belongs to him! You cannot know what its purpose might be! Do not touch it!"
She glanced quickly back at the dog. "I have to. I need to."
Abernathy started forward, saw the look of warning in the sylph's green eyes, and quickly stopped. "Willow, do not do this! You know the stories, the legends!" His voice dropped to a whisper. "You will be lost, girl!"
She stared silently at him for a long moment, then smiled. "But that is exactly the point, Abernathy. I am already lost."
Her hands came up swiftly and fastened about the neck of the black unicorn.
It was as if a cold fire swept through her. The fire burned from her hands into her arms and down her body. She stiffened against its feel and shuddered heavily. She threw back her head and gasped for breath. She heard Abernathy call out frantically from behind her and then lost track of him. He was there, but no longer visible to her. She could see nothing now but the face of the unicorn before her, a disembodied shape against a backdrop of space. The fire consumed her, mingled with her desire, and turned it into unrestrained passion. She was losing control of herself, beginning to come apart. A moment longer, and she would cease to be herself entirely.
She tried to remove her hands from the fairy creature's neck and found she could not. She was joined to the unicorn. She was one with it.
Then the ridged horn began to glow white with magic, and a jumble of images ripped through her mind. There was a place of empty coldness. There were chains and fire, tapestries of white on which unicorns bounded and leaped, dark-robed wizards, and spells being cast in endless succession. There was Meeks, Ben, and the Paladin. And finally there was a cry of such terror and longing that it shattered the images as if they had been formed of glass.
Set me free!
The pain of that cry was too much for her to bear. She screamed, and her scream jerked her sharply backward, tearing her free at last of the unicorn. She stumbled and almost fell — would have fallen, had not Abernathy's arms come quickly about her to hold her upright.
"I saw!" she gasped and could speak no more.
But the sound of her scream still echoed through the trees.
The scream reached Ben Holiday as he knelt alone in the forest beside the tiny stream, restored to himself at last, the medallion of Landover's High Lords a brilliant silver wonder cradled gingerly, unbelievingly within the cup of his hands. The scream rose out of the trees, a thin, high wail of anguish and fear, and lingered like the whistle of the wind through canyon drops in the still mountain air.
Ben's head jerked up, his neck craning. There was no mistaking that cry. It was Willow's.
He leaped to his feet, hands closing possessively over the medallion, eyes searching the forest shadows as if whatever threatened the sylph might be waiting there for him as well. A mix of fear and horror raced through him. What had been done to Willow? He started forward, stopped, whirled about desperately, and realized that he could not trace the direction of the scream. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. Damn! Meeks would hear that scream as surely as he — Meeks and that winged demon. Perhaps Meeks already had...
He was holding the medallion so tightly that it was cutting into his palms. Willow! A vision of the sylph blossomed in his mind, a frail and beautiful creature whose life was his special charge. He recalled again the words of the Earth Mother investing him with responsibility for seeing that she stayed safe and his promise to keep her so. His emotions tore at him and left him ragged and frantic. Truths to which he had not yet given heed flayed his soul.
The truths all reduced to one.
He loved Willow.
He experienced a warm rush of surprise and frantic relief. All this time he had denied his feelings, unable to come to terms with them. He had wanted no one close to him again, not after Annie, his dead wife. Love brought responsibility and the possibility of hurt and loss. He had wanted none of it. But the feelings had remained — as such feelings do — because they had never been his to deny in the first place. The reality of their existence had been forced upon him that first night out in the eastern wastes after fleeing Strabo and Nightshade — revealed in a dream in his dialogue with Edgewood Dirk on the reason for the urgency of his hunt for Willow.
Why do you run so? Why must you hurry so? Why must you find Willow? Dirk had asked.
Because I love her, he had answered.
And so he did — but had not allowed himself until this moment to think on it, to reason on it, and to consider what it meant.
Seconds was all it took to do so now. The thoughts, the reasonings, and the considerations all passed through his mind in a smattering of time that was barely measurable. It was as if everything that had taken so long to reach resolution was compressed down into a single instant.
But that instant was enough.
Ben never hesitated. There was a time when he would have, a time that now seemed a thousand years gone. He released the medallion with its silver-engraved image and let it fall against his chest, the sunlight sending shards of brightness into the dappled forest.
He called the Paladin to him.
Light flared and brightened at the edge of the little glade, chasing the shadows and gloom. Ben's head lifted in recognition, and there was excitement in his eyes. He had thought never to do this again, wished it in fact, prayed it might never be necessary. Now he was anxious for it. A part of him was already beginning to break away.
The Paladin appeared out of the light. His white charger stamped and snorted. His silver armor glittered, its harness and traces creaking. His weapons hung ready. The ghost of another age and life was returned.
Ben felt the medallion begin to burn against his chest, ice and fire first, then something else altogether. He felt himself separating, drawing out of his own body.
Willow! he heard himself scream her name once in the silence of his mind.
It was his last thought. A flare of silver light burst from the medallion and streaked across the glade to where the Paladin waited. He felt himself carried with it to merge with the body of the King's knight-errant. Armor clamped all about, fastening and tightening, closing down. An iron shell encased him, and the memory of who and what he had been was gone. The Paladin's memory became his, a rush of images and thoughts that spanned a thousand other times and places, a thousand other lives — all of a warrior whose battle skills had never been surpassed, a champion who had never been defeated.
Ben Holiday disappeared. He had become the Paladin.
He was aware momentarily of the ragged figure that stood statuelike at the edge of the little stream, bearded and unkempt, a worn and battered shell. He knew it to be Landover's King and dismissed the matter.
Wheeling his white charger about, he surged through the brush and scrub into the forest trees and was gone.
Willow's scream brought Meeks almost instantly. He appeared from the shadow of Mirwouk's crumbling walls astride his winged demon, dark robes flying against the sunlit afternoon skies. The demon plummeted to the hill side with a hiss, settling heavily within a gathering of pines at its far edge. Its leathered wings folded in against its wolf-serpent body, and its nostrils flared with small bursts of fire. Steam rose off its back.
Meeks slid slowly down the scaled neck, hard eyes fixed on the black unicorn as it stamped and snorted frantically some fifty feet away. He cradled in the grasp of his good arm the missing books of magic.
Abernathy pulled a still-shaken Willow protectively behind him. "Stay back from us, wizard!" he ordered bravely.
Meeks ignored him. His eyes were on the unicorn. He came forward a few steps, glanced briefly at Willow and Abernathy, looked again at the unicorn, and then stopped. He seemed to be waiting for something. The unicorn danced and shuddered as if already caught, but still it did not flee.
"Willow, what is happening here?" Abernathy growled urgently.
The sylph could barely stand. She shook her head woozily, her words nearly inaudible. "I saw," she repeated. "The images, the whole... of it. But there are... so many, I cannot..."
She was making no sense at all, still in shock, it appeared. Abernathy helped her over to a patch of flowered grass and sat her gently down. Then he turned back to Meeks.
"She cannot hurt you, wizard!" he called out, drawing the hard eyes instantly. "Why not let her go? The unicorn is yours if you wish it, although I cannot imagine why you would. Heaven knows, it has been a thing of misfortune for all who have encountered it!"
Meeks kept looking at him, but said nothing.
"The others will be here in moments, wizard!" Abernathy declared. "You had best hurry away!"
Meeks smiled coldly. "Come over to me a moment, scribe," he invited softly. "Perhaps we can discuss it."
Abernathy hesitated, glanced briefly back at Willow, took a deep breath, and started across the clearing. He was so frightened that he could barely make himself move. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was walk over there to the wizard and his pet demon, and yet here he was doing just exactly that. He straightened himself bravely, determined to see this thing through. He really hadn't any choice in the matter. He had to do something to help the girl, and this appeared to be the only option open to him. The day was warm and still; it was a wonderful day for just about anything other than this. Abernathy moved as slowly as he could and prayed that the others would arrive before he was turned into the wizard's latest burnt offering.
When he was a dozen paces from Meeks, he stopped. The wizard's craggy face was a mask of cunning and false warmth. "Closer, please," Meeks whispered.
Abernathy knew then that he was doomed. There wasn't going to be any escape for him. He might be able to delay matters for a few moments, but that would be all. Still, even a few moments might help Willow.
He came forward half-a-dozen paces and stopped again. "What shall we discuss?" he demanded.
The cold smile was gone. "Why not the possibility that your friends will be here to help you in the next few moments?"
He gestured briefly with the books, and a ring of twisted little figures appeared from out of the trees surrounding the clearing. The figures were everywhere, encircling them. Ugly, piggish faces with sharp teeth and serpents' tongues snorted and squealed anxiously in the silence. Abernathy felt the hair on the back of his spine arch. A dozen of the little monsters pushed Questor Thews, Bunion, Parsnip, and the G'home Gnomes from out of the trees. All were gagged and securely bound in chains.
Meeks turned. The smile was back. "It appears that your friends will not be much help to you after all. But it was good of you to wait until they could join us."
Abernathy saw his last, faint hope of being rescued disappear.
"Run, Willow!" he shouted.
Then, growling savagely, he launched himself at Meeks. He did it with the somewhat vague notion of catching the wizard off-guard and knocking free those precious books of magic. He almost got away with it. Meeks was so busy orchestrating the arrival of his small army ol minions that it never occurred to him the dog might decide to fight back. Abernathy was on top of him almost before he realized what was happening. But the magic Meeks commanded was as quick as thought, and he called it to his use instantly. Green fire surged up from the books of magic, and a screen of flame hammered into Abernathy. The soft-coated Wheaten Terrier tumbled backward head-over-heels and lay still, smoke rising lazily from his singed fur. The screen of fire protecting Meeks and the books of magic flared and died.
The wizard stared back across the clearing to where Willow sat slumped upon the ground and the black unicorn waited.
"At last," he whispered, his voice a slow hiss.
He beckoned curtly to the waiting demon imps and the ring began to tighten.
Silence descended across the little clearing — almost as if nature had put a finger to her lips and said "hush" to the world. There was a moment of time in which everything slowed. Meeks waited impatiently as the circle of demon imps crept forward. His winged demon snorted, nostrils steaming. Willow sat with her head bent, still stunned, her long hair cascading down about her like a veil. The black unicorn moved close, a step at a time only, a shadow out of darkness woefully lost in daylight. Its muzzle drooped and brushed the sylph's arm gently. The white magic of its horn had gone dark.
Then a sudden rush of wind broke over the mountain heights and whistled through the trees. The unicorn's head jerked up, its ears perked forward, and its horn flared brighter than the sun. It heard the sounds that no one else could — sounds for which it had listened for centuries.
Trees, brush, and scrub exploded from the wall of the forest at its northern edge as if torn free by some massive fist. Wind howled through the opening left, and light burst free in a brilliant white flash. Meeks and his winged demon shrank back instinctively, and the demon imps threw themselves down upon the earth squealing.
A rumble of thunder turned to a pounding of hooves, and the Paladin rode out from his twilight existence into battle.
Meeks gave a howl of rage and disbelief. His demon imps were already scattering to the four winds, terror sweeping them away as if they were dried leaves at the end of a broom. The demon imps wanted no part of the Paladin. Meeks turned, the books of magic clutched tightly to his dark robes by the leather-gloved hand. He shrieked something unintelligible to the monster behind him, and the creature surged forward, hissing.
The Paladin swerved slightly, white charger barely slowing as it turned to meet the demon.
Fire burst from the demon's maw, engulfing the approaching horse and rider. But the Paladin broke through the wall of flames and came on, a battle lance lowered into place. The demon breathed its fire once more, and again the flames washed over the knight-errant. Willow's head lifted, and she saw the silver knight and horse disappear in the fire. Sudden realization rushed through her. If the Paladin was here, so was Ben!
Flames pyramided off the clearing's grasses and scorched the sheltering trees. Everything wilted momentarily in a white-hot heat. But then the Paladin was clear of the flames once more, his charger and armor covered with ash and smoking. He was almost on top of the demon now, battle lance set. Too late the demon realized the danger as it spread its wings and tried to lift itself skyward. The Paladin's lance ripped through scales and armored plates and pierced its massive chest. The wolf-serpent screamed and surged back, the battle lance breaking off within it. It tried to rise, a weak, fluttering effort it could not manage. Then its heart gave out, and it fell earthward. It crashed into the scorched grasses, shuddered, and lay still.
The Paladin broke off the attack while the demon was in its death throes, swerving to stay clear of the struggling monster. Then he wheeled back again, drew forth the great broadsword, and spurred his white charger towaid Meeks to finish the fight.
But this time Meeks was ready for him.
The hard, craggy old face tightened down in concentration, the wizard's thin lips drawing back until his teeth showed. Whatever magic he yet commanded, he was calling on it now.
Wicked green light flared at a point midway between the approaching knight-errant and the waiting wizard. Meeks cried out and stiffened. His head shot back and the green light exploded in shards.
From out of the fire appeared a line of armored skeletons atop fleshless steeds, half goat, half snake. Willow counted. Three, four, five — there were six altogether. The skeletons held broadswords and maces in their gloveless, bony hands. Helmetless death's-heads smiled in frozen grimace. Riders and carriers both were as black as night.
They turned as one and came at the Paladin in a rush. The Paladin rode to meet them.
Willow watched the battle unfold from close beside the black unicorn. Her senses had returned to her now; her thoughts were clear. She saw the Paladin and the black riders come together in a clash of iron, saw the dust swirl up from the impact, and saw one of the black riders go down in a pile of shattered bones. The fighters wheeled and struck at each other, and the sounds were terrifying. She shrank from the conflict, her thoughts focused not on the Paladin, but on Ben. Where was he? Why wasn't he here? Why wasn't Landover's High Lord close to his champion?
Another black rider went down, the bones of its skeleton body snapping apart, crunching like deadwood beneath the hooves of the Paladin's horse. The Paladin broke away, whirled and struck down a third rider, the great broadsword flashing silver light as it swung through its deadly arc. The remaining riders converged, weapons hammering at him, clanging and sparking off his armor, thrusting him back.
Willow pushed to her knees. The Paladin was in danger of being forced down.
Then small bursts of green fire flared over the bones of the three black riders that had fallen, and six new skeletons rose out of the smoky haze to join their fellows. Willow felt her stomach tighten with cold. They had doubled their strength. There were too many now for the Paladin.
She lurched to her feet, determination giving her strength. Questor, the kobolds, and the gnomes were still bound and helpless. Abernathy was still unconscious. Meeks had disabled them all. There was no one left to help the Paladin but her.
No other left to help Ben.
She knew what she must do. The black unicorn stood quietly next to her, emerald green eyes fixed on her own. There was intelligence there that was unmistakable. She could read in those eyes what she must do, and it mirrored what she already knew in her heart.
She took a deep breath, stretched out her arms, and embraced the unicorn once more.
The magic rushed through her instantly, quick and anxious. The unicorn's delicate body shuddered with release. and the images began. They surged into the watershed of the sylph's mind, jumbling together. Willow jerked back from their intensity, wanted to scream, and fought back against the urge. Her need was less this time, her desire more manageable. She struggled to master it. The images slowed then, straightened into an orderly succession, and came on anew. The mix of pain and anguish that had accompanied them lessened, and their brightness dimmed into something bearable.
She began to recognize what she was seeing. Her fingers caressed the silky, delicate neck of the unicorn as the magic joined them.
A voice cried out.
Fairy-kind! Set me free!
The voice belonged to the unicorn and to nothing. Something of the unicorn was real; something else was not. The images appeared and faded in Willow's mind. and she watched them pass. The black unicorn sought freedom. It had come in search of that freedom. It believed it would find it through... why?... through Ben! The High Lord could set it free because the High Lord commanded the magic of the Paladin, and only the Paladin was strong enough to counteract the magic that bound it, the magic that Meeks wielded — but then there was no High Lord to be found and the unicorn had been left alone in this land, searching, and Willow had come instead, searching too, bearing the golden bridle the wizards had made to snare it when it first broke free long ago. The unicorn was frightened of Willow and the bridle, uncertain of her purpose, and it fled from her until it realized that she was good, that she could help, and that she could take it to the High Lord and set it free. Willow would know the High Lord even in his disguise, when the High Lord himself did not know...
The images came quicker now, and Willow fought again to slow them so their meaning would not be lost. Her breath came quickly, as if she had run a great distance, and there was a bright sheen of sweat on her face.
The voice cried out in her mind again.
The High Lord's power was lost to him and therefore lost to me! I could not be set free!
The voice was almost frantic. The images whispered urgently. The dreams that had brought Willow in search of it were a mix of truth and lies, dreams from both wizard and fairies... Fairies! Her dreams were sent by the fairies?... All must come together so that truths could be revealed and the power needed could be summoned — so that Paladin and wizard could meet and the stronger prevail, the stronger that was also the good, and then the books of magic could be, finally and forever, could be and must be...
Something intruded, other images, other thoughts imprisoned within the black unicorn for countless centuries. Willow stiffened and her arms locked about the sleek neck. She felt the scream rising within her once more, uncontrollable this time, madness! She saw something new in the images. The black unicorn was not a single life, but many! Oh, Ben! she cried soundlessly. There were lives in the images that struggled and could not break free, that yearned for things she could not understand in worlds she could not imagine. She shook with the emotions that ripped through her. Souls imprisoned, lives held fast, magics torn away and used wrongly — Ben!
Then there was a sudden image of the missing books of magic, locked within a dark, secret place, a place filled with the smell of something evil. There was an image of fire burning outward from one of those books, burning with the intensity of life being born anew, and from out of that fire and that book leaped the black unicorn, free once more, racing from the dark into the light. searching...
The voice cried out one final time.
Destroy the books!
The cry was one of desperation. The cry was almost a shriek. It blocked away the images; it consumed everything with its urgency: The pain it released was intolerable.
Willow's scream finally broke free, rising up against the sounds of battle. The sylph tore away from the black unicorn and stumbled back, almost blacking out with the intensity of what she had experienced. She dropped to her knees, head bent against a wave of nausea and cold. She thought she must die and knew in the same instant she would not. She could sense the black unicorn shuddering uncontrollably beside her.
The words of that final cry were a whisper on her lips.
Destroy the books!
She rose to a half-crouch and screamed them out across the battleground of the little clearing.
The words were like tiny wafers of paper caught in a windstorm. The Paladin did not hear them, consumed by the fury of the battle he fought. Meeks did not hear them, the whole of his concentration given over to directing the magic he had called upon to save himself. Questor Thews, Bunion, Parsnip, Fillip, and Sot, abandoned by their demon imp captors, were lying bound and gagged at the clearing's far edge.
Only Abernathy heard.
The dog was semiconscious, and the words seemed to come to him from somewhere out of the darkness of his own thoughts. He blinked hazily, heard the words echo heard then the sounds of the frightening conflict taking place about him, and forced his eyes all the way open.
The Paladin and the black riders whirled and struck out at each other at the clearing's center, a kaleidoscope of movement and sound. Willow and the black unicorn were small, trapped figures at the clearing's far end. He could see nothing of his other friends.
He panted, his tongue licking out at his nose, and he felt dull, aching pain working its way through his battered body. He remembered what had been done to him and where he was.
Slowly, he twisted himself about so that he could see better. Meeks stood almost next to him. Caught up in the battle between the Paladin and the black riders, the wizard had come forward the half-dozen paces that had separated him from the dog.
The words whispered once more in Abernathy's mind. Destroy the books!
The dog tried to get to his feet and found his body would not respond. He sank back. Other thoughts intruded. Destroy the books? Destroy his one chance of ever becoming human again? How could he even consider such a thing?
Another black rider went down, and there was the sound of breaking bones. The Paladin was hemmed in on all sides, armor blackened by ash and rent by sword and axe. He was losing the battle.
Abernathy knew what it would mean for all of them if he did and quit thinking about his own problems. He tried to rise again and found now that he could — but not all the way. His muzzle drew back in a grimace of frustration.
Then Meeks shifted his feet one further time, and suddenly his leg was inches from Abernathy's head. The wizard wore soft shoes; the leg was exposed. Abernathy's grimace turned to a snarl. He had just been given one last chance.
He launched himself headfirst at Meeks, his jaws closed over the wizard's ankle, and he bit down hard. Meeks gave out a shriek of mingled pain and astonishment, his hands flew out, and the books of magic flew up.
Everything happened at once after that. There was a streak of black light that shot across the clearing, past the Paladin and the skeleton riders, past the clouds of dust and bursts of green fire. The black unicorn sped quicker than thought. Meeks jerked his leg frantically, trying to free himself from Abernathy's jaws, groping at the same time for the airborne books. Abernathy would not let go. Willow cried out, and Abernathy bit down harder. Then the black unicorn had reached them. It leaped into the air, its horn flaring white with the magic, speared the tumbling books, shattered their bindings like glass, and scattered their pages everywhere.
Down fluttered the loose pages, those with the drawings of the unicorns mingling with those whose centers were charred from that inner fire. Meeks screamed and yanked free at last of Abernathy's jaws. Green fire burst from his outstretched hands and hammered into the unicorn as it soared, knocking it askew. The unicorn twisted in midair, and white fire arced from its ridged horn into the wizard. Back flew Meeks. Green fire exploded into the unicorn, and white fire hammered into Meeks. The fires raced back and forth between unicorn and wizard, the level of intensity rising with each new burst.
The Paladin whirled swiftly at the clearing's center, broadsword arcing in a circle that cut apart the remaining black riders and scattered their bones. It was a perfunctory task now; the black riders were already disintegrating. The magic that had sustained them had gone out of their hollow forms. They crumbled instantly and were gone.
Then the Paladin was racing toward the unicorn and the wizard. But the Paladin could not reach them in time. The fire had engulfed Meeks, the magic too strong even for him. He shrieked one final time and exploded into smoke. The black unicorn was engulfed in the same moment, the fire all about. Stricken, it arched skyward, leaped into the air and was gone.
The Paladin, too, disappeared. It rode into a sudden burst of white light, the light washing away ash and dust and healing silver armor until it shone like new — all in an instant's time — and knight-errant and light simply faded away.
Abernathy and Willow stared at each other voicelessly across the charred, empty forest clearing.
Then it happened.
They all saw it — Willow and Abernathy as they crouched upon the scorched hillside, still stunned from the fury of the battle just completed; Questor, the kobolds, and the G'home Gnomes as they struggled futilely to sit upright, still secured by the bonds that the demon imps had used to restrain them; and even Ben Holiday as he stumbled breathlessly from the forest trees after having run all the way from the place of his transformation, not knowing what had brought him, knowing only that he must come. They saw it, and they held their collective breath in wonder.
It began as a wind that disturbed the mountain stillness, just a whisper at first, then a rush of sound like the roar of an ocean. The wind sprang up from the earth upon which the pages of the broken books of magic now lay, stirring dust and ash, whipping at the few tiny shards of green flame that still flickered in the meadow grasses. It lifted skyward in the shape of a funnel, catching up those scattered pages in a snowstorm of white. The pages that were burned became suddenly healed, their ragged edges closing, their yellowed surfaces turning pristine white once more. The pages that were filled with the drawings of the unicorns mixed and joined with them until none was distinguishable from the others. A wall of pages rose up across the skyline, crackling and snapping madly as the wind whipped them through the air.
Then the pages began to change. The drawings began to shimmer and flex, and abruptly the unicorns came alive. No longer frozen in still life, they began to race about the funnel's edge. There were hundreds of them, all white, all in motion, a blur of power and speed. The pages and bindings of the books of magic were gone now; there were only the unicorns. They flew through the air and cried out in ecstasy against the roar of the wind.
Free they seemed to be saying! Free!
Then the funnel broke apart and the unicorns scattered, flooding the skies above the mountain clearing in a rush of graceful, delicate bodies — like fireworks exploding in an impossibly beautiful shower. The unicorns spread out across the skyline — buoyed by the magic of their transformation — then soared into the distance. Their cries lingered after them momentarily, then faded into silence.
The mountains had gone still again.
"There never was any black unicorn," Willow said.
"There was, but it was only a deception," Ben said.
Questor Thews and Abernathy, Bunion and Parsnip, and Fillip and Sot looked at each other in confusion.
They sat within the shade of a great, old oak at the edge of the meadow clearing, the lingering smell of scorched earth a pungent reminder of all that had befallen. The last of the shards of green flame had flickered out, but trailers of smoke and particles of dust and ash still floated weightless through the sun-streaked afternoon air. Abernathy had been dusted off, the others had been freed of their bonds, and the six of them were gathered about Ben and Willow, who were trying to explain what had happened. It wasn't easy because neither of them knew everything yet, so they were piecing the story together as they went.
"It might be easier if we start at the beginning," Ben offered.
He hunched forward, legs crossing before him. He was ragged and dirty, but at least they all recognized him now. Removing his own deception of who and what he was had removed theirs as well.
"A long time ago, the fairies sent the white unicorns into Landover on a journey to certain of the mortal worlds. We know that much from the histories. The unicorns were the most recognizable magic the fairies possessed, and they sent them to those worlds where belief in the magic was in danger of failing altogether. After all, there has to be some belief in the magic — however small — for any world to survive.
"But the unicorns disappeared. They disappeared because the wizards of Landover waylaid and imprisoned them. They wanted the unicorns' magic for their own use. Remember, Questor, when you told me that the wizards were once a powerful guild that hired out — back before the King sent the Paladin to dispose of them? Well, I'm betting a major part of that magic came from the imprisoned unicorns — magic that the wizards siphoned off. I don't know what magic they possessed to trap the unicorns in the first place — a deception of some sort, I'd guess. That seems to be their favorite trick. At any rate, they caught them up, changed them into drawings, and trapped them in those books."
"But not whole," Willow said.
"No, not whole," Ben agreed. "This is where it gets interesting. The wizards separated the body from the spirit of each unicorn in making the transformation. They imprisoned the body in one book and the spirit in the other! That weakened the unicorns and made them easier to hold. The body without the spirit is never as strong. The wizards' magic was potent enough to imprison each separately; the trick was to prevent them from joining again."
"Which was the danger Meeks faced when the black unicorn escaped," Willow added.
"Right. Because the black unicorn was the collective spirit of the imprisoned white unicorns!" Ben furrowed his brow. "You see, so long as the wizards could maintain the strength of the magic that bound the books, the unicorns could not break free and the wizards could drain the unicorns' magic as well and put it to their own use. Even after Landover's King sent the Paladin to crush the wizards' guild years ago, the books survived. They were probably kept hidden for a time. Even later, the wizards still remaining, those now in service to the King, were careful not to let anyone know the real source of their power. And the books were passed down from wizard to wizard until at last they came to Meeks."
He touched his index finger to his lips. "But — in the meantime — there was a problem with the unicorns. Every so often, they escaped. Something would happen, the wizards would relax their vigilance, and the unicorns would break free. It didn't happen often, of course, because the wizards kept close watch over the books. But now and again, it did. Each time, it was the spirit part of the imprisoned unicorns that managed to escape — the magic of the spirit always being stronger than that of the body. The spirit would burn its way free of the pages of the book of magic that bound it and escape. But it lacked a true physical presence. It was only a shadow formed of need and will, a silhouette given momentary substance and life — and not much more." He glanced quickly at Willow for confirmation, and she nodded. "And because it was black in color, being only a shadow, it was generally assumed to be something evil rather than something good. After all, whoever heard of a black unicorn? The wizards, I am certain, spread the story that the black unicorn was an aberration — a dangerous thing, perhaps even a demon. They probably set a few examples to reinforce the belief. That kept everyone away from it while the wizards worked at getting it back again."
"The bridle of spun gold was used for that purpose," Willow interjected, picking up the story. "The wizards employed their magic to create the bridle after the first escape. The bridle was a magic that could draw and hold the black unicorn, giving the wizards time to imprison it anew. It was always caught quickly; it was never free for long. It was sent back again into the books of magic, the burned pages were restored, and all was as it had been. The wizards took no chances. The books were their greatest magic, and they could not risk damage to or loss of them."
She turned to Ben. "That was why the black unicorn was so frightened of me at first. Even in its need, it was terrified. I felt its fear each time I came close and again, later, when I touched it. It believed me to be a tool of the wizards that had imprisoned it. It couldn't know the truth. It was not until the very end that it seemed to understand that I was not in service to Meeks."
"Which brings us to the present," Ben announced, straightening. "Meeks had gained possession of the books of magic in his turn and had used them as had all the wizards before him. But then the old King died and everything started to fall into ruin. The black unicorn hadn't escaped for a very long time — perhaps centuries — and there hadn't been any need for the golden bridle in all those years. I don't think even the wizards before Meeks had paid a whole lot of attention to it for a while because it was apparently before Meeks' time that it was stolen for the first time by Nightshade. Later it was stolen by Strabo and then went back and forth between the two after that. Meeks knew where it was, I suppose, but the books of magic were safely under his control, and the witch and the dragon didn't know the real purpose of the bridle in any case. The trouble started when Meeks went over to my world to recruit a new King for Landover and hid the books of magic in his absence. I suppose he thought he wouldn't be gone long enough for anything to happen to them, but things didn't work out that way. When I didn't come crawling back to give up the medallion and the Iron Mark didn't finish me off, Meeks suddenly found himself trapped over there with the books of magic still hidden over here. The magic that imprisoned the unicorns weakened once more in his absence, and the spirit part — the black unicorn — burned free of the pages of its book and escaped."
"So that was why my half-brother sent the dreams!" Questor exclaimed, new understanding beginning to reflect on his owlish face. "He had to get back across into Landover, recover the missing books, and find the golden bridle — and quickly! If he didn't, the black unicorn might find a way to free all the white unicorns — its physical selves — and the magic would be lost!"
"And that is exactly what it tried to do," Willow confirmed. "Not only this time, but every time it managed to break free. It tried to find the one magic it believed stronger than the magic of the wizards — the Paladin! Always before, it was caught so quickly that it never had any real chance. It knew the Paladin was the King's champion, but it would never even manage to reach the King. This time it was certain it could — except that there was no King to be found. Meeks was quick to act, once he discovered the unicorn had escaped. A dream was used to lure Ben out of Landover before the unicorn could reach him. Then Meeks crossed back with him and altered his appearance so that no one — including the black unicorn — could recognize him."
"I think it might have recognized me if it hadn't been imprisoned for so long," Ben interjected. "The older fairy creatures such as Nightshade and Strabo could recognize me. But the unicorn had forgotten much of its magic while it was bound."
"It might have lost much as well through the wizards' use of it," Willow added.
"Meeks told me that night in my bedchamber, when he used his magic to change me, that I messed up his plans in some way," Ben went on, returning to the matter of his lost identity. "Of course, I didn't have any idea what it was that I had done. I didn't know what he was talking about. The truth was that everything I had done was inadvertent. I didn't know that the books contained stolen magic and that, if he weren't within Landover, the magic might be lost. I was just trying to stay alive."
"A moment, High Lord." Abernathy was shaking his head in confusion. "Meeks sent three dreams — yours to provide him a way back into Landover, Questor Thews' to give him possession of the missing books of magic, and Willow's to regain for him the stolen bridle. The dreams worked as they were intended except for Willow's. She found the bridle, but she failed to bring it back to you as the dream had told her she must. Why so?"
"The fairies," Willow said.
"The fairies," Ben echoed.
"I said that first morning that my dream seemed incomplete, that I felt I was to be shown more," Willow explained. "There were other dreams after that; in each, the unicorn appeared to be less a demon, more a victim. The fairies sent those dreams to guide me in my search and to teach me that my fears were false ones. Gradually, I came to realize that the first dream was somehow a lie, that the black unicorn was not my enemy, that it needed help, and that I must provide that help. After the dragon gave the bridle of spun gold to me, I was persuaded further — by dreams and visions — that I must go in search of the unicorn myself if I were ever to discover the truth of matters."
"The fairies sent Edgewood Dirk to me." Ben sighed. "They wouldn't intervene to help me directly, of course — they never do that for anyone. Answers to our difficulties must always come from within; they expect us to solve our own problems. But Dirk was the catalyst that helped me to do that. Dirk helped me to discover the truth about the medallion. Meeks had instigated the deception that led me to believe I had lost it. Dirk helped me see thatI was the one fostering that deception, and that if I could recognize the truth of things, others could as well — which is exactly what happened."
"Which is why the Paladin was able to reach us in time, apparently," Questor said.
"And why the books of magic were finally destroyed and the unicorns freed," Willow added.
"And why Meeks was defeated," Abernathy finished.
"That's about it," Ben agreed.
"Great High Lord!" exclaimed Fillip fervently.
"Mighty High Lord!" echoed Sot.
Ben groaned. "Please! Enough already!"
He looked imploringly at the others, but they all just grinned.
It was time to leave. No one much cared for the idea of spending another night in the Melchor. It was agreed they would be better offsetting up camp in the foothills below.
So they trudged wearily down out of the mountains through the fading daylight, the sun sinking behind the western rim of the valley in a haze of scarlet and gray. As they walked, Willow dropped back next to Ben, and her arm locked gently about his.
"What do you think will become of the unicorns?" she asked after a moment.
Ben shrugged. "They'll probably go back into the mists, and no one will ever see them again."
"You do not think they will go on to the worlds to which they were sent?"
"Out of Landover?" Ben shook his head. "No, not after all they've been through. Not now. They'll go back home where it's safe."
"It isn't safe in your world, is it?"
"Hardly."
"It isn't very safe in Landover, either."
"No."
"Do you think it is any safer in the mists?"
Ben thought about that a moment. "I don't know. Maybe not."
Willow nodded. "Your world has need of unicorns, doesn't it? The magic is forgotten?"
"Pretty much."
"Then maybe it doesn't matter that it isn't safe there. Maybe the need outweighs the danger. Maybe at least one unicorn will decide to go anyway."
"Maybe, but I doubt it."
Willow's head lifted slightly. "You say it, but you do not mean it."
He smiled and did not reply.
They reached the foothills, passed through a broad meadow of red-spotted wildflowers to a stretch of fir, and the kobolds began scouting ahead for a campsite. The air had gone cool, and the approaching twilight gave the land a muted, silvery sheen. Crickets had begun to chirp, and geese flew low across a distant lake. Ben was thinking about home, about Sterling Silver, and the warmth of the life that waited there for him.
"I love you," Willow said suddenly. She didn't look at him, facing straight ahead as she spoke the words.
Ben nodded. He was quiet a moment. "I've been meaning to say something to you about that. You tell me you love me all the time, and I can never say it back to you. I've been thinking lately about why that is, and I guess it's because I'm afraid. It's like taking a chance you don't have to take. It's easier to pass it by."
He paused. "But I don't feel that way right now, right here. I feel altogether different. When you say you love me, I find I want to say it back to you. So I guess I will. I love you, too, Willow. I think I always did."
They walked on, not speaking. He was aware of the increased pressure of her arm about his. The day was still and restful, and everything was at peace.
"The Earth Mother made me promise to look after you, you know," Ben said finally. "That's part of what started me thinking about us. She made me promise to keep you safe. She was most insistent."
He could feel Willow's smile more than see it. "That is because the Earth Mother knows," she said.
He waited for her to say something more, then glanced down. "Knows what?"
"That one day I shall bear your child, High Lord."
Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly
"Oh."
It was two days before Christmas.
Southside Chicago was chill and dreary, the snowfall of the previous night turned gray and mushy on walks and streets, the squarish highrise projects and tenements vague shadows in a haze of smoke and mist. Steam rose out of sewer grates in sudden clouds as sleet pelted down. Not much of anything was moving. Cars crawled by like prehistoric beetles, headlights shining their luminous yellow eyes. Pedestrians ducked their heads against the cold, their chins buried in scarves and collars, their hands jammed into coat pockets. Late afternoon watched an early evening's approach in gloomy silence.
The corner of Division and Elm was almost deserted. Two boys with leather jackets, a commuting businessman, and a carefully dressed woman, headed home from shopping, stepped from a bus, and started walking in different directions. A shop owner paused to check the locks on the front door of his plumbing business as he prepared to close up for the day. A factory worker on the seven-to-three shift ducked out of Barney's Pub after two beers and an hour of unwinding to begin the trudge two blocks home to his ailing mother. An old man carrying a load of groceries shuffled along a sidewalk path left in the snow by a trail of icy footprints. A small child engulfed by her snowsuit played with a sled by the steps other apartment home.
They ignored each other with casual indifference, lost in their own private thoughts.
The white unicorn flew past them like a bit of strayed light. It sped by as if its sole purpose in being was to circle the whole of the world in a single day. It never seemed to touch the ground, its graceful, delicate body gathering and extending in a single fluid motion as it passed. All the beauty in the world — all that was or could ever be — was captured by its movement. It was there and gone in an instant. The watchers caught their breath, blinked once, and the unicorn had disappeared.
There followed a moment of uncertainty. The old man's mouth dropped open. The child put down her sled and stared. The two boys ducked their heads and muttered urgently. The businessman looked at the shop owner and the shop owner looked back. The carefully dressed woman remembered all those magical stories of fairies she still enjoyed reading. The factory worker thought suddenly of Christmas as a child.
Then the moment passed, and they all moved on. Some walked more quickly, some more slowly. They glanced over at the misted, empty street. What was it they had seen? Had it really been a unicorn? No, it couldn't have been. There were no such things as unicorns — not really. And not in cities. Unicorns lived in forests. But they had seen something. Hadn't they seen something? Hadn't they? They walked on, silent, and there was a warmth within each of them at the memory of what they had experienced. There was a feeling of having been a part of something magical.
They took that feeling home with them. Some of them kept it for a time. Some of them passed it on.