Unicorn Quest

by Unicorn Quest (lit)

  UNICORN QUEST

  By

  Ellen Fisher

  And

  Angelica Hart

  © copyright February 2005, Ellen Fisher and Angelica Hart

  Cover Art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright February 2005

  ISBN 1-58608-370-8

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  Ry Trall had been walking for days. First across the savannah, grass waving gently in the breeze, with the awareness of being stalked by the lions, their lithe bodies parting the grasses almost silently, the black spotted silver hides camouflaging them. He would never have known they were there but for their rank odor. Then into the foothills, where trees grew thick and lush, drinking greedily of the snowmelt that gushed from the mountains. Now, at last, he had reached the rocky, steep canyons that surrounded the valley he sought.

  It had taken him a long time to ascend the rocks, always checking above him, aware that a pride of black mountain cats might take advantage of a momentary distraction and leap upon him from above. But at last, his hands bleeding and sore, his robes torn, he reached the rim of the canyon and found a vantage point. Squinting against the bright sunlight, he gazed out over the valley carpeted with lush blue grass. And then he saw them, grazing indolently. The herd he’d risked his life to find.

  The lead stallion, a glorious ebony steed, lifted his finely shaped head and sniffed the air. Ry watched, puzzled, knowing the animal couldn’t smell him. Not from this distance. Perhaps there was another predator in the valley.

  Abruptly the black stallion whinnied an alarm, then exploded into a gallop. His mares raced behind him, their foals close by their sides.

  A movement caught Ry’s eye. A rope of the light but unbreakable substance known as chi’nyr whizzed through the air, settling around the lead stallion’s neck and bringing him to a halt so abruptly that he cartwheeled and slammed into the ground. Ry hissed through his teeth, distressed to see the magnificent animal fall so hard.

  The stallion couldn’t be hurt. Not now. Not after he’d risked everything to find him.

  He started down the steep path into the valley, skidding and slipping on loose stones.

  * * * *

  Sahra approached the great black stallion. He had scrambled to his feet and now stood glaring at her, his eyes showing white around the edges, his ribs expanding and contracting like bellows, his razor-sharp hooves pawing the ground nervously. Had he been an ordinary horse, she would not have dared to approach him until he was tied more securely. But he was no ordinary horse, and she knew he would not hurt her.

  She held out her hand. "It’s all right," she said softly.

  He threw up his head and snorted, unconvinced.

  She walked toward him, slowly but with great confidence, until she was within an arm’s length of him. Then she reached out and placed a hand against his satin skin, gleaming in the sunlight.

  He shied briefly, but calmed almost instantly as she poured every ounce of psychic energy she possessed into reassuring him. It seemed like a long time to her, but within moments he was nibbling delicately at the zua fruit in her palm.

  "And now," she said, rubbing his velvet muzzle affectionately, "I’m going to ride you."

  "I don’t think so."

  At the unexpected voice, Sahra’s head whipped around. Standing behind her was a very tall man, his dark, shoulder-length hair whipping in the wind. A golden weapon gleamed in his hand. A weapon pointed in her direction.

  His crimson robes indicated his clan. He was of the Ror q’Trall.

  The Clan of Blood.

  Chapter Two

  Ry studied the small woman in front of him. Her hair was bound beneath a cloth, as every woman’s must be, but he guessed from her eyebrows and fair skin that she was golden-haired. Her pale face was sunburned, indicating she’d been watching the unicorn herd for quite some time before approaching it. She was clad in the black, anonymous robes worn when one did not wish to disclose one’s clan.

  And given the stallion’s unnatural calm, she was possessed of unusually strong psychic powers, which meant she was a dangerous opponent. Most people had some degree of psychic ability, but very few possessed enough to tame a unicorn, a naturally skittish beast. Most of the ones that did were women. He had known he had little enough chance of taming the brute himself, but he had decided to try anyway.

  Only to find the chore already done.

  "How convenient," he drawled as he sauntered toward her. "I came out here to capture a unicorn. This unicorn, in fact. And you’ve already done it for me."

  She narrowed her eyes and spoke through clenched teeth, apparently undaunted by the ominous golden gleam of his weapon. "He’s mine."

  "You tamed him. That doesn’t make him yours."

  "Fool!" she snapped. "Do you really believe you can ride him?"

  Ry studied the beast. It was enormous, most of an arm’s length taller at the withers than any horse he’d ever seen. Its height reminded him of the huge horses that had once been used for farming, and just like those horses, long hair fell from the fetlocks to the hooves, but otherwise it bore little resemblance to a draft horse. Except for the long, spiraled horn that sprang from its forehead, its conformation was similar to a horse bred for speed, with incredibly long legs and well-muscled haunches.

  "I can ride anything," he said, not without pride. "I am of the Ror q’Trall. I was all but born on a horse."

  "This is no horse," she said scornfully. "He will spit you if you but attempt to mount."

  The unicorn tossed its head, its ivory horn gleaming in the sun, as if confirming her words. In all likelihood, it had sensed her defiant mood, which made the animal restive. Now that she had established a bond with the animal, he realized, it might be impossible for him to tame it himself.

  In which case he would simply have to kill her. Because he could not afford to fail.

  "Step away from him," Ry ordered.

  She moved away from the stallion readily enough, smiling. "Think you that the bond I created can be broken so easily?"

  Ry frowned. Most people could only maintain a psychic bond through touch. If she was capable of creating a lasting psychic bond, one that could not be broken, he would have no choice but to kill her. For some reason that idea did not appeal to him.

  He reached out to the stallion, applying every bit of his mental energy to the beast. The stallion reared up, its sharp hooves pawing the air, then came back to earth with a thud, its nostrils flaring as it snorted angrily.

  Ry understood animals well enough to comprehend the threat. He stared at the brute in frustration, then turned to the woman. "Why did you tame this animal?"

  "I have wanted him since the moment I saw him," she said softly.

  "I have need of him," Ry said angrily. "It is not a child’s foolish whim that brings me here, but a matter of life and death."

  "A child? You dare to call me a child?"

  "I am telling you what I see. A child playing with a toy that is more important than she can possibly grasp."

  She glared at him. "I have been alone for years. I am in need of a companion."

  His eyebrows shot up. "Alone? Are you…?" He trailed off, unable to say the word.

  "Aye," she snapped. "I am A’tril."

  A’tril. Outcast. He took an involuntarily step backward, and she all but rolled her eyes. "Churlish fool. I am not outcast because I have a loathsome disease, but because I disgraced my clan."

  He could ha
rdly imagine what one so young could have done to deserve such a fate. A’tril was the worst imaginable punishment in a world where clan was everything. She was a woman without family. Worse, without identity. She was nothing and no one. Unless another clan took her in--which was appallingly unlikely--she would wander alone until she died.

  She looked at him, her lavender eyes soft and vulnerable. "I captured the stallion for companionship. I knew it was wrong to capture such a glorious, noble beast, to tame that which was born to be wild, but once the idea wormed its way into my brain, I could think of little else. I have been alone these past two years."

  He gazed into her eyes, struck by the dreadful loneliness of her voice. Having spent his life amongst his close-knit clan, he could hardly conceive of two years alone. She moved toward him and continued, "I arrived in this valley a month ago. When I saw the herd, I thought of how much more quickly I could move with a mount. The unicorns are far faster than any ordinary horse. If I had--"

  And abruptly, she struck. Her fist slammed into his stomach and her knee into his crotch. Ry doubled over, stunned by how easily she’d fooled him. She was truly gifted with psychic powers, he realized. Blindly, he reached out and grabbed her, pulling her to the ground and sitting on her. Nearby, the stallion reared, neighing angrily. Had it not still been confined by its rope, Ry suspected it would have trampled him.

  He sat on her until his vision cleared and the desire to gag went away. Then he picked up his weapon and held it against her temple.

  "Play any more mind games with me," he said in a deadly voice, "and I will kill you. Do you understand me?"

  Her eyes went wide, and she gave a slight nod of assent.

  "Let me tell you why I want the stallion," he said, in a slightly less dangerous tone. "The Ror q’Trall is First Among Clans. We have been First Among Clans for many years. Surely you have not been A’tril so long that you have forgotten what clan status means."

  She shook her head, a slight movement.

  "Then you know what it means to be a lower ranked clan. You know that the lower ranked clans are subject to raids, to theft of their women and their horses. I would not wish that upon my people. I have a responsibility to protect them."

  She was silent for a moment. "Are you the uban?"

  "I am the r’uban, the Prince. My father rules Ror q’Trall. He has bred the best horses--"

  "Stolen them from other clans, you mean."

  "It is the way of things," Ry said. "But this year our best stallion, Rykstra, sickened and died for no apparent reason."

  "Poison?"

  "Most likely. That is also the way of things. But we are now without a race horse. If we do not win the race, we will lose status. We have lost status for various other reasons, and we are barely First. If we lose the race, we will no longer be First Among Clans."

  She lay on her back and stared at him, unmoved. Her lavender eyes were like stone. "Perhaps you will discover what it feels like to be raided, then."

  "I have a younger sister," Ry said. "She is lovely, and of royal blood, and she will be a target for every clan. I will not permit her to be stolen from us. We must win the race."

  "And you think to do it with this stallion?"

  Ry raised his head and gazed at the beast. "Look at him. There is no horse alive that can hope to run with him."

  "But he is a unicorn," she said, as if he were a small child who had said a very foolish thing.

  "There is no such thing as a unicorn," he said, smiling. "Everyone knows that. They are but stories, told to credulous children."

  "And yet you traveled here, far from Ror q’Trall lands, in search of a unicorn."

  "I came here in search of him. I had heard tales from men I trusted."

  "They will not let you run a unicorn in the race, you fool."

  "They will not know that he is a unicorn."

  She gasped, horrified. "You think to cut off his horn? Surely that will kill him."

  "If the men I have spoken to are correct, that is no horn. It is an antler."

  She frowned. "There is no difference."

  "There is a difference, a very significant one. Antlers are shed in the fall."

  She blinked. "So within a few weeks…."

  Ry smiled coldly. "To all intents and purposes, he will be merely a horse."

  Chapter Three

  The lavender hue of Sahra’s gaze hardened. "That is deceitful and

  unworthy of a prince."

  He shifted his weight on her slender frame. All muscle and grit, Ry’s weight made it difficult for Sahra to breathe, but she refused to complain. After all, it wouldn’t do her any good. He was of the Clan of Blood. His kind wouldn’t care.

  "I do whatever it takes to protect my own," he said.

  Sahra understood all about protecting her own. She hadn’t been entirely honest about her intentions or about being alone. There were many ways to become A’tril and they had a society all their own. It was like a family, but with a social structure clansmen could never comprehend.

  He lowered his weapon, slowly. "I don’t wish to kill you."

  "Nor I you," she said calmly, despite the tremors scurrying along her nerve endings.

  He arched a brow. "And how do you think to manage even a minor assault?"

  "If I told you that, I would lose my advantage."

  He studied her for a long moment, and then grinned. "You bluff well, child."

  With all the force at her disposal, she shoved at his brawny chest. "I am not a child."

  He grabbed her wrists and easily forced them over her head. Slipping downward, he imprisoned her with the length of his body. She could feel every inch of his hard flesh pressing into her. An unfamiliar sensation crawled through her. She lacked the experience to identify it, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant and that unnerved her.

  "It would be best to humor me. I’m less likely to slaughter a child than a loathsome A’tril."

  Although the weapon was no longer at her head, it was still within his reach. Even if she could get free of his grip, she wouldn’t dare test his speed. She knew his clan well, too well. They had earned the name Clan of Blood through years of slaughter. They had little compunction about killing a village of men and enslaving their women and children. The best they kept for their own, even adopting a few of the youngest. The others were sold at auction as if they were nothing more than a commodity. It disgusted her, yet it was the way of it, and most accepted it as life. After all, the strong would always conquer the weak.

  Sahra would have none of it. She had lost all in the wake of such atrocities, and she was not the only one. If the clans knew the true strength growing in the A’tril, they would unify and destroy the awakening menace to their way of life. But they didn’t know, and with the unicorn and her own psychic talent, she’d bring down the mighty Ror q’Trall and all those like them.

  Perhaps this was the opening she needed. It didn’t fit her original plan, but it would do. Legend had it that a storm would one day level the clans in order to unite them as one. She intended to be that storm. And may the Creator help any who stood in her way.

  "It seems we are at an impasse," she said, her breath raspy.

  He laughed with genuine amusement. "Quite the opposite, child, it seems you are at my mercy."

  "Those of your clan don’t comprehend the concept. You understand nothing but blood and greed. I’d rather be A’tril than be associated with such a clan."

  She hadn’t meant to betray her antagonism any more than she meant to provoke his anger. But the gauntlet had been thrown and her plans ruined for a momentary lapse of speech. The fury in his gaze and the tightening of his grip splintered her bravado. With sudden panic, she fought against his hold, bucking and tossing her head until her covering loosened and some of her hair spilled free.

  "Stop!" he bit out, his voice harsh and barely audible.

  She didn’t obey. Instead her efforts intensified as if she could indeed free herself. She couldn’t know what
her actions did to a man in his prime. She didn’t notice that his hoarse tone had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with passion. She didn’t realize that with each toss of her hips, his sex hardened. She certainly didn’t appreciate that a lesser man would have been loosening her robes and having his way. She only knew that she couldn’t risk death. She was the storm. She had to complete her destiny or more would end up like her, like the A’tril who still wandered alone, without clan, without hope.

  "Be still, you willful child. You don’t know what…."

  His words halted as her movements shifted the sarong-like top, forcing it to open and expose the full curve of one pale, well-formed breast. He groaned. "Stop it! Now!"

  Sahra ignored his commands. Closing her eyes, she focused on the unicorn, melding her consciousness to his, intending to elicit his help. The connection was broken before it took hold as she felt the crush of Ry’s mouth against her own. Shock waves ripped through her. Being so psychically open elicited an honest response before she could still it. For a singular moment, she relented to the insistent pressure of his lips, to the invasion of his tongue. She instinctively returned a full measure, even moaning under an onslaught of sensations never before experienced.

  Then a channel opened to his mind. She saw through to his natural character. It caught her unawares, bonded her to him in an unexpected way. Before it could register, an onslaught of sexual images arose, projecting his anticipated course. Despite the intensity of his arousal, he had no intention of rushing things. He would go slow, savor, anticipate. His kiss would linger through a series of tantalizing assaults, each bolder than the last, each intended to make her long for more, to ignite her in ways that would have her whimpering with need. His fingers would roam her body with skilled persistence, first above the robes, then beneath, shedding them as he probed and tantalized her beyond resistance. He knew the way around a woman’s passion. His ample experience echoed through his movements, yet she didn’t sense the memory of any particular woman.

  Ry focused on her with an intensity that seared her, that introduced her to a sensuality she had unknowingly suppressed. She never knew a man could want like this. She never understood she could yearn for a man just as much. Yet, it was more, a link that few ever experienced.