The Unicorn Thief

by R. R. Russell

  Twig looked ready to dive over the roast duck and across the table. “He couldn’t possibly—”

  “He couldn’t possibly go back on our deal just because he doesn’t have his favorite unicorn.” Reynald’s mouth curled up again, the way Ben hated.

  A Death Swamp Duel without Indy? Everything without Indy if he didn’t get to him soon. He knew Reynald was telling the truth, but it didn’t matter. His mother would have to let him search for Indy. She wouldn’t want him losing that duel.

  “There is no deal. I am Queen of Westland! I have lost my husband over one foolish, outdated notion. I won’t lose my son over another. There will be no duel.”

  “Then there will be war,” Reynald said.

  “Yes, I’m afraid there will.” The queen’s words were coated with ice.

  “I gave my word!” Had she lost all sense of pride? He’d been counting on that, blast it all! It was all he could ever count on from her. Ben looked Reynald right in the eye. “I will keep it. For the people of Eastland and Westland. For the thousands of unicorns that will die if I don’t.”

  Reynald nodded, an eager gleam in his eye. He and his escorts excused themselves from the table, leaving the Westlanders.

  “Ben.” His mother said his name so tenderly. Like he was her little boy again. Her eyes brimmed with hurt. He wanted to make it go away. He wanted to make her happy. He took a step closer to her. “Mother, I’m going to find Indy, my unicorn. There is no match for him. Not even Prince Reynald’s famous stallion, Stone Heart. You’ll see. Everything will be all right.”

  She shook her head. Her gaze turned cold again. A cold that trickled through Ben’s chest, then stuck like a lump of ice, accidentally swallowed.

  “Neal,” she said, “take them back.”

  Chapter 21

  Twig jolted awake. Ben’s outstretched arm was in front of her, holding her back. When she opened her mouth to speak, he clamped his hand over it. She froze.

  A slow, soft creak. Then a click. Someone had turned a key in the lock. The cell door eased open, and a bulky figure blocked the flickering of the corridor’s torchlight.

  “I’m a friend,” he whispered. His voice was rough and low. A glimmer of light bounced off a long object in his hand—a sword.

  The stranger said, “Let’s go.”

  Ben didn’t hesitate. He pulled Twig to her feet, reached for her back to feel that her pack was there, and pulled her toward the door as the stranger eased it open.

  Twig’s heart kept leaping between relief and fear. It had been a hard night. They were both bruised and battered from their struggle with Neal and the other guards. When he realized his mother was locking them back up, Ben had burst into a fury Twig had never thought possible. Once they were shut in the cell again—tossed there with no more ceremony than the bundle of their own clothes that were hurled after them—he’d fallen apart.

  Twig had cried as she slipped her clothes on under the now-tattered gown, then pulled the ridiculous costume off. She wanted Mr. and Mrs. Murley. They knew what to do with people who were falling apart. What did Twig know? She was only half put together herself. Being this new Twig wasn’t easy. In the end, she’d cried with Ben and prayed prayers that only seemed to echo off the stone walls and back at her, ever damper and darker, until finally they’d both fallen into a restless sleep.

  The stranger glanced back at them as they followed. A flash of firelight illuminated his crooked nose and pale, serious eyes.

  “Ben,” Twig whispered once the stranger had looked away again. “Isn’t he one of the dungeon guards?”

  “Of course. How else would we get out of here? Now shh!”

  “But—”

  “Merrill,” Ben said. “It must’ve been.”

  Merrill had arranged this? Is that what he thought? Twig didn’t know what to think, but they didn’t have time to think, not if they were going to get out of here. Where could this man take them that could be worse than the dungeon?

  As soon as she asked herself that question, Twig imagined all sorts of nightmarish possibilities. Her imaginings must be far worse, she tried to console herself, than any real possibilities in Terracornus.

  Wonder and Rain Cloud were waiting for them somewhere. And somewhere, in the darkness on the other side of the passage door, wild unicorns were waiting for a leader. Without one, they could attack the ranch again. And now Ben and Twig knew that someone else was using the passage. The unicorns could be stolen. The Murleys and the girls could face not only the dangers of wild unicorns, but also strange people from another world.

  Would the Murleys venture into the forest in the dark of night, into the territory of the unicorns, into the shadows where strangers lurked, trying to find Twig?

  Twig and Ben turned a corner in the narrow dungeon corridor, and their guide stopped to produce a key from around his neck and to unlock an even narrower door.

  “Watch your step,” he said. And then he took a step himself and disappeared downward, into the blackness beyond.

  “Ben!”

  “There’s a rail,” he said gently. “Here.” He took her hand and moved it until she felt the cold smoothness of an iron stair rail underneath it. “Got it?”

  Twig bit back a gasp of pain. She’d forgotten about her hand. She groped around and gripped the rail on the right side instead. “Yeah. Got it.”

  “I’m right behind you.” Ben sounded like himself again. The good, solid Ben that she could depend on. He took hold of her hood with his free hand. He wouldn’t let her fall.

  Ahead of her, footsteps fell carefully, quietly—but heavy just the same—in a steady rhythm, down and down. The stairs were long and black and winding. Twig felt out the edge of each one with the toe of her boot and lowered herself to the next, until she got a sense for their size, their spacing. She took them faster, faster, fast as she dared. But still, she could not help wondering why they were going down, why they seemed to be heading deeper into the castle that had become their prison.

  Finally their path leveled out. Twig feared that any moment they’d turn a corner and a door would slam behind them, shutting them into the depths below the castle where no one would see or remember them, and they would never find their way out. Just as the panic was reaching up from her belly into her throat, tempting her to grab Ben and refuse to go any farther, the dank ground began to slope upward. Gently, subtly, but upward—cautiously, like Twig’s hope.

  The farther they went, the less dank and stale the air became. It was still stuffy in its own way, but its heaviness was earthy, not reeking with the stench of hopeless men; it was wet and cold, but like rained-on soil, not like weeping, seeping stone.

  The slope gave way to another set of stairs, this time climbing upward. Ben said, “I think we’re on the other side of the wall.”

  “The city wall?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you don’t know?”

  “My father told me about a passage. His passage. From the dungeon, underground, across the castle grounds, through the city, under the wall, and into the forest. We’re really getting out of here. We’re going to find Indy.” Ben’s voice trembled with excitement.

  At the top of the stairs, the passage continued, flat and straight, but dark and narrow as ever. Twig was just considering pulling her flashlight out of her jacket pocket when she noticed a blacker patch of darkness just ahead, on the right side of the tunnel wall. Another passage?

  Twig squinted. The blackness seemed to shift. Yes, it moved. Someone was there! Someone was listening to their footsteps, waiting for them to pass by the opening. A cloaked figure drifted out of the other passage and stood across theirs. It reached under its cloak, and Ben reached for his sword—his sword that wasn’t there.

  Chapter 22

  Twig grabbed her flashlight and turned it on.

  “Easy now,” their guide said in his
gravelly whisper.

  The shadowy figure pulled something out from under his cloak, but it wasn’t a sword; it was a little bag, hanging heavy from a drawstring. The bag swayed, and there was a faint musical clink of coins. He said nothing, and neither did their gruff guide, who took the bag of money and stuffed it into a pack at his hip. The flashlight glow revealed several more openings in the passage wall ahead. Twig jerked her flashlight beam from one of them to the other, then back to the cloaked figure.

  Her hand trembled, and the light wobbled as she waited and prayed. The figure didn’t go away; he stepped past the guard, and he reached for the clasp of his cloak and undid it. His hood fell back, and he pulled the garment the rest of the way off. Twig gasped. It was Griffin.

  She glanced frantically at the dark corridors opening up all around them. He’d paid off the rescue Merrill had sent for them. Now what was he going to do with them? Which way should they run?

  Ben just said, “Griffin?”

  In a swift, fluid motion, Griffin swung the cloak around and draped it over Twig’s shoulders. “It’s a cool night. This will keep you warm and hidden. Cover those lights on your coat.”

  “Lights?” Twig uttered in a choked voice.

  Ben picked up her arm from under the cloak and tugged at the reflective strips on her sleeves. Oh. Lights.

  “Hurry now. Your weapons and your mounts are waiting.” Griffin turned, and they followed.

  “But, Ben,” Twig whispered, “should we trust him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “But why? He—”

  “He prefers not to have me around, to have our mother to himself. He does what she wishes, and he’s her favorite. I can trust him to get rid of me.”

  “But you were in the dungeon!”

  “I told you, she wouldn’t have kept me there forever. I’m her son. This way, Griffin gets rid of me before she has a change of heart. Before I have a change of heart. He thinks I’m going to die there, on the island. Could be he’s right.”

  Ahead of them, Griffin stopped. He’d come to a small wooden door. “Father never told me about this. I found it, but I never told. You see, he could’ve trusted me, but he never gave me the chance. He could’ve trusted me.”

  Well, Twig didn’t trust him—though, knowing what it was like not to be trusted, she felt a pang of guilt for it. Twig mustered a smile for Griffin. “Thank you,” she said. Ben wouldn’t say it, but someone should, just in case. Just in case he wasn’t who Ben thought he was. Just in case, even if Griffin was who Ben thought he was right now, he could ever be somebody different.

  Griffin bent down and lifted a blanket from a small pile next to the door, revealing Ben and Twig’s bows and quivers, their swords, and Ben’s dagger. A new belt for Ben, to replace the one he’d cut, and his jacket and cloak.

  Griffin held Twig’s weapons out. “It wasn’t easy getting these back. I thought about taking some from the armory instead, but I knew you’d rather have your own.”

  “Thank you.”

  Griffin glanced at her swollen hand and looked worried. Ben quickly donned his weapons, as though they might be snatched away any moment.

  Griffin opened the door, revealing yet another flight of stairs. But it was short, and when Twig shone her flashlight on it, she could see that another wooden door was above it, where the ceiling of the passage ought to be. Griffin ascended the steps and reached over his head and eased the creaking door open. The fresh night air rushed down at Twig. She breathed deep and stepped up before Ben.

  When she reached the top, her head emerged just above the forest floor. The door to the tunnel lay on the ground outside. She planted her hands on the leaf-strewn earth and cried out in pain, then scrambled awkwardly out with Ben boosting her from behind and Griffin pulling on her good hand.

  Griffin gave Ben directions to an abandoned woodsman’s cottage, where he said they would find everything they needed—including Wonder and Rain Cloud. Griffin claimed he’d sent word to Merrill as to what had happened through Pete, and that Merrill would be waiting for them at his place.

  Silverforest was not as dark as the forest of Lonehorn Island, but still, it was dark, and so vast. Ben had never been through this door. How did he even know exactly where they were?

  “Griffin,” Twig said, intentionally avoiding Ben’s gaze. “Can’t you take us there?”

  He shook his head. “I have to get back before I’m missed.”

  Ben grabbed Twig’s sleeve. He turned and started on his way at a jog. Twig hurried to keep up. There would be only one thing on Ben’s mind now—finding Indy.

  ***

  Ben opened the battered oak door of the cottage a crack. He shouldered his bow and drew his sword, even as he joined Twig in talking encouragingly to the animals inside. There was no mistaking Rain Cloud’s snort or Wonder’s wild whinny, but he couldn’t be sure of anything Griffin was involved in.

  “Ben, hurry up!” Twig said.

  “Stand back,” he warned her. “She’s been waiting a long time to see you too. What if she comes rushing out?”

  Twig stepped back. He stuck the toe of his boot in the crack and eased the door open. Twig leaned around Ben and shone her flashlight into the shadowy damps beyond the doorway. A sharp white horn cut through the darkness above the flashlight beam.

  Wonder leaped circles around them. As Twig laughed and calmed her, Ben struggled to stay calm himself. He took Rain Cloud’s head in his hands and gave him a good rub behind the ears. Soon he’d have his unicorn back too. They’d gotten out of that dungeon. Not how he’d expected, but they’d gotten out. Now he could find Indy—and send word to Reynald that their duel was still on. They would find a way to conduct their challenge without the queen stopping them.

  Chapter 23

  The safe house Merrill had been staying in was an isolated little stone construction barely a step up from the herder’s outpost. At first Twig feared it was empty, but Merrill appeared, hurrying across the little yard to greet them, a lantern shrouded with cloth in his hand. From the silvery leaves overhead came a familiar coo. Emmie glided onto Ben’s shoulder.

  Merrill motioned to the outbuilding that passed for a stable. Ben dismounted, and Merrill said, “I’m sorry, Ben-boy. I’d hoped that if you got a chance to talk to her—”

  “I know.”

  “I was tempted to try to meet you partway, but I knew you wouldn’t be fool enough to take the road, and I feared we’d pass each other right by. I’m glad my directions got to you all right.”

  “They got to me through Griffin. That’s not all right, Merrill. This house isn’t safe anymore, and you know it.”

  “I’ll find another place for Marble soon enough.”

  Merrill gave Wonder a quick greeting and proffered an acorn from his pocket. Wonder accepted the toll and let Merrill pass to Twig’s side. He raised his hands to her. “Come on now, Twig-girl, before you fall off.”

  Merrill’s arms were so strong and welcoming, his eyes so earnest and kind, Twig realized just how tired she was and how scared, and how tired of just being scared, and she slid into his grasp.

  Ben dismounted on his own, though Merrill watched his every move with concern.

  “You hurt, Ben-boy?”

  “No, we’re fine, apart from being worn out.”

  “Here.” Merrill handed Twig off to Ben. “You get this one inside and rest. And eat something, the both of you, before you faint.” Merrill took hold of Wonder’s bridle. “I’ll get the animals settled.”

  Inside the house, there was a good, warm fire and a pot of something that smelled wonderful—almost as good as Mrs. Murley’s pot roast—simmering over some embers. Near the hearth, a small, knee-high table was set with three spoons, three mugs, and three napkins. A pitcher of milk and a metal trivet coated with c
hipped white enamel sat in the middle of the table. The trivet was circular in shape, and the negative space in its center formed a unicorn, forelegs raised, horn held high. It looked like it was dancing right in front of a full moon.

  Ben said, “Go on. Sit down.”

  Twig eyed the cushions, trying to figure out which one was Merrill’s.

  “Just sit, Twig. It’s not the queen’s table.”

  “I know that.”

  Ben knelt beside her and poured milk into the mug in front of her, then into one of the other mugs. Twig gulped it greedily. Ben found a thick, folded-up cloth and used it to carefully pick up the bubbling pot and lug it to the table. It was a big, black, iron thing. When Ben removed the lid, Twig nearly cried with gratitude. It looked so good and so hot, and she was so hungry. If Merrill hadn’t ordered them to go ahead and eat without him, she would’ve gladly cast aside any concerns about manners that the Murleys had worked so hard to instill in her.

  She grabbed her spoon and sat up on her knees and aimed the utensil at the contents of the pot, but her hand collided with Ben’s. He laughed with a crooked, tired smile. Anxious as he was to find Indy, she could see the fatigue overcoming Ben. He’d have gone straight to the swamp from the castle, but he didn’t want Griffin to know they were headed there, and their chances of success in the swamp were much better in the daylight.

  “I was going to serve some up for you.” He retreated with his spoon and sat back on his heels. “But go ahead.”

  She would, thank you very much. It was beef stew or something like it. She didn’t bother to ask Ben what it was; she just filled her bowl and sat back and scooped up a bite.

  “It’s hot,” Ben warned as he filled his own bowl.

  Twig gave the spoonful a perfunctory blow, then sucked a bit of the broth. Hot, hot! But so good.

  The stew was cool enough for Twig to shovel up heaping bites by the time Merrill came in, knocking the crud off his boots at the doorstep.

  “Any good?” Merrill said.