The Unicorn Creed

by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  The fliers regrouped for another attack, but this time when they dispersed, it was to fall leadenly to the ground, burning as they fell, till they lay like dead coals in the snow.

  A clod of brown fell beside one of them, and Bronwyn looked up, wonderingly. The piece of sky they had formerly occupied was now filled with flying horses. In a thrice, these were herded to a landing in the courtyard by Mirza, Mashkent, and the black djinn with the gold earrings. Bronwyn disengaged herself from Jack and the Emperor so Loefwin could rise to greet his deliverers. Mirza and Mashkent dismounted and made their sweeping, ripple-fingered bows, not to Loefwin, but to her.

  “About time you got here,” she said, not ungratefully.

  “We trust our arrival will be deemed Profitable to all,” Mashkent replied.

  * * *

  Bronwyn felt oddly invigorated by the battle, perhaps another legacy from her warlike frost giant ancestors. She had been victorious in her first fray! With that behind her, almost anything seemed possible. Now she followed her father’s teachings and did as he said any good warrior would do, ignoring her own compelling need to find out what the Miragenians and their flying horses were doing here and concentrating instead on evacuating the wounded from the field.

  Those injured by the ordinary run of monsters or by weapons were cleaned and bandaged, while Gilles, Loefrig, and several others were mittened and restrained to keep them from flaying themselves and immersed in Loefrig’s all-too-familiar bathtub for the night to soak in oil. Four men had been attacked by hidebehinds, and two of them were missing in action. One simply could no longer see his left arm, though the visible end didn’t bleed and the juncture was smooth as glass and he could furthermore still feel the arm. The fourth had a see-through-ish spot in his middle, and kept glancing glumly down at it. A change of shirt did a great deal to restore his spirits, the new shirt covering the transparent wound where the cloth of the old shirt had simply disappeared with the man’s flesh and bone. Everyone reassured him that he was very lucky to be holding up as well as he was, considering.

  The Miragenians had spread cushions and carpets around the fountain, along with trays of viands and sweetmeats and assorted nectars. Assuring Loefwin that the bill for this after-the-battle catering service would be absorbed by the firm’s diplomatic relations department, Mashkent bowed to Bronwyn.

  She was rather reluctantly having her feet salved and massaged by Carole, who had been enjoying herself, acting as infirmaress to the soldiers, but had decided, since she didn’t want to miss what the exotic strangers had to say, that Bronwyn needed her ministrations more at the moment.

  Mirza kept bowing unctuously to Loefwin as his uncle said smoothly to the company at large and to Loefwin and Bronwyn in particular, his glance bouncing back and forth between them, “Great Emperor, Illustrious Lady, please forgive our intrusion into your affairs. But when our esteemed guest left our company so precipitously, giving us no opportunity to complete the transaction we had begun, we were of course devastated. Upon questioning the servant who was placed at the Princess’s disposal, we learned that the poor child had witnessed the destruction of her father’s ships and the dispersion of his army into the sea at the hands of his enemies.”

  Carole gasped and Jack’s eyes widened with alarm. He glanced at Bronwyn, who nodded sadly, but looked up sharply again when the merchant continued.

  “Ah, yes,” the merchant said, with hands and eyes cast helplessly ceiling-ward, “The Ablemarlonians unleashed their secret weapon—a renegade wizard formerly in the employ of one of our competitors, a powerful man, but without business sense. The indiscriminate changing of climactic conditions sows havoc and upsets the source of the power to the Profit of none. Under the circumstances, we naturally understand the Princess’s untimely departure. Her filial devotion speaks so well for her, we could not but extend ourselves to offer aid.

  “Therefore, we saw fit to consult with our senior partner and founder, Mukbar the Magnificent, may his Profit increase. With his consent, our firm has unanimously and magnanimously decided that, in view of the desperation of the situation, the lady’s valorous nature evidenced by the deeds on behalf of her host, her high birth, her breathtaking beauty—”

  “Her rightful claim against your company?” Carole suggested suspiciously, paying no attention to the barefooted kick from Bronwyn, whose foot was still in her lap. Bronwyn might be taken in but she wasn’t. The news about the war was catastrophic, but she somehow felt the merchants were determined to profit by it rather than use it as an opportunity for a good deed. These people were related to Droughtsea, however distantly, and she for one didn’t trust them. They might have even tricked Bronwyn with a pool that showed illusions instead of reality, just to upset her so they could cheat her.

  Mashkent overrode the interruption, but hastened to the point. “It seems we can make a deal. As you have seen, we have by happy chance brought to this land our fine flying steeds, a wondrous crossbreed between the giant golden eagle and the hornless unicorn, a beast of marvelous properties, the most miraculous of which are swiftness and ferocity in battle.” He turned to Bronwyn. “We are prepared to give you a chance to have your curse lifted entirely—not merely a partial clearing, you understand, but a 100% guaranteed bona fide cure and the use of these incomparable steeds to fly your allies here to the aid of your father. All of this we propose to let you have for the price of an insignificant boon we think you may be able to perform for us.”

  “Now?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh fine!” she wailed. “I have lots of time to go running errands.” She wanted those horses badly, but what would be the point of having them if she had to delay flying to her father’s assistance while she performed boons?

  Loefwin touched her arm urgently. “My dear Bronwyn, don’t distress yourself. If there is anything within my power that can be done to aid you, consider it yours.”

  Bronwyn shot him a grateful look, though in truth she had no idea how or if he might help.

  Mashkent was continuing. “Now, now, my dear Princess, rest assured that we value the expediting of your mission above all things, may our dinars decrease if we do not, but this task of which I speak is urgent, under the circumstance, though it is but a small matter.”

  “Why is it just this one thing?” Jack asked suspiciously. “And if it is of such small value, why is it so urgent? Why can she not perform it later?”

  “She may perform it later if she deems speed of more importance than supplying steeds to her allies.” Mashkent bowed to Loefwin and coughed delicately into his fist. “However, either she must perform the boon at once or we can provide horses only to her and her original companions. If she elects to do our bidding later, and is still able to do so, we would even be prepared to accept alternative payment.”

  Mirza beamed. “Yes, a bit of Argonian real estate would be a fortunate acquisition, say, half the kingdom, or perhaps your first-born child. The promise of some such trifle would be perfectly adequate to induce us to consider letting you have the flying horses, but the curse would still be upon you, although if you could spare us half your kingdom and your first-born on account, we—”

  “What’s the boon?” Bronwyn asked flatly.

  “It’s nothing! So inconsequential I hate to mention it—” Mashkent fanned his brown hand dismissingly.

  “A trifle, as my Uncle has said—” Mirza tried to look as if he were embarrassed to be a party to the solicitation of such a small favor.

  Jack said to Carole from behind his hand, “Sounds to me as if these merchants have a worse dose of Bronwyn’s curse than she does.”

  Mirza added, “In truth, we would never have bothered to come all this way to offer you so much for so little except that my uncle’s third concubine is pregnant and has a craving for these things.”

  “What things?” Bronwyn demanded from between gritted teeth.

  Mirza’s hands fluttered helplessly, as if they were trapped moths. “Oh—only one th
ing. A—um—it’s a pomegranate, actually.”

  “Is that all?” Bronwyn asked with puzzled relief. “What’s a pomegranate?”

  “It’s nothing—a snack craved by my spoiled darling,” Mashkent put in. “A little red fruit, hardened and filled with seeds. That is all. Nothing dangerous. But remember what you receive in exchange—the use of the steeds for you and your allies, the safety of your kingdom, the respect of your father and your subjects, your veracity established for all time, and as an extra added bonus, we’ll agree to grant you use of the charm we’ve prepared to provide temporary relief from your curse at no extra charge.”

  “Are there any dark, mysterious strangers in your plan or long journeys over water?” Jack asked with narrowing eyes, naming the old standby phony gypsy fortunes.

  “What?”

  “Just wondering,” Jack grumbled. He too was remembering Droughtsea’s description of these men. The rebel Duke’s claim that they might represent the stationary forerunners of his people seemed more likely than he had first thought. Probably the Miragenians had cheated his own folk out of house and home, which was no doubt what had set gypsies roaming in the first place.

  “Is this some guessing game,” Carole asked, “or do we get to know where this stupid fruit grows so Bronwyn can pick you one and we can use your precious horses to win the war before both our allies and our enemies die of old age?”

  “It cannot simply be picked!” Mirza protested indignantly. “Naturally, as you would expect in view of the inducements offered for it, the pomegranate of which we speak is a rather special one—”

  Loefwin, who had spent the last few minutes in consultation with the Chief Game Warden, returned his attention to Bronwyn and the merchants. “Pomegranate?” he asked sharply, his voice sounding as if he thought they had said ‘dragon’ or ‘hurricane’ instead of simply ‘pomegranate.’ What’s all this?”

  Both merchants gave him long, enigmatic looks from under their turbans and his eyes widened and he shook his head in a palsied fashion. “Oh, I say. You can’t mean that pomegranate. See here, that’s no sort of thing to send a child in after. I’ll go myself, or send one of my men—”

  “Your Duke of Droughtsea, perhaps?” Mirza suggested, sounding unlike either his jovial serpentine self or a bumbling apprentice merchant. He sounded bitter and menacing. “It would be unprofitable to allow you our steeds while you possess or could possess the pomegranate.”

  “I—er—see your point. And I admit that business was a bad move. In fact, I deeply regret it and assure you—”

  “As you assured the Mages and Kings of the Six that they were to have a relaxing feast?” Mashkent asked. “No, Your Imperial Highness. Forgive this unavoidable, and I trust you will agree, understandable, breach of your hospitality, but I must tell you that your word in regard to such matters lacks value with us.”

  Mistress Raspberry spoke for the first time. “Besides, Your Highness, will you not need to gather an army if you’re to ally with Argonia?”

  “How fortunate I was to marry into a family where there are so many women ready to remind me of my responsibilities!” Loefwin growled. “Yes, I’ll have to gather an army. And I’ll help Rowan with magic steeds or without. I just don’t like—”

  But Bronwyn didn’t wait to hear what he disliked. She had made up her mind. Her father must have those horses—all of them, with Loefwin’s army on their backs. She faced Mashkent and said firmly, “I wouldn’t go after the nasty old fruit for all the—”

  “For the sake of the Profit, give her the blasted charm!” Mashkent cried.

  Mirza fumbled in the sleeves of his robe and brought forth a nondescript copperish chain with a blue-green leather wrapped stone dangling from it. With one of his ceremonious bows, he proffered it to Bronwyn. “Pray pass your buckler to your squire,” he instructed, as she turned the bracelet over in her hand, “and place this charm upon your wrist. It will enable you to speak the truth without your accustomed cumbersome circumlocutions.”

  Bronwyn did as she was instructed, but wished they’d come up with something less likely to be in the way. Something like the slave bracelets would have been more functional. But the charm had the desired effect.

  “Only direct me, good merchants,” she began, but before she could finish saying what she meant for the first time in her life, Jack interrupted.

  “Hold a moment,” he ordered, laying an irritatingly protective hand on her arm and addressing the merchants sternly. “What is the catch?”

  “Catch? Who is this louse-ridden lackey to speak to me of catches? Milady, control your minion!”

  Loefwin looked as if he wanted to speak, but before he could Carole chimed in. “Watch who you’re calling a minion, peddler. Where Bronwyn goes, we go. She may not know much about magic, but I do. I got very high marks in magical ethics—well, the theory anyway, and I know as well as you do that there’s a price to every spell, a cure for every ill, an ill in every cure, or it simply doesn’t work. So it’s only fair that you tell us—what is it with this pomegranate? And while you’re explaining, why will we need to fetch it for you before she can be cured if this bracelet allows her to tell the truth anyway?”

  Mashkent spread his hands on his knees to signify defeat. “Very well, so the bracelet grants her only the first three minutes of speaking the truth and then it is powerless. Is that so terrible? At least while wearing it she can give her word. Once she fetches the fruit, she will need no charm. As for the pomegranate, I am sure His Imperial Highness can enlighten you with far more authority than I. He was the one who loosed its powers. We merely want it returned to us and to Miragenia for…” and he was joined by Mirza as they both intoned, “the Profit of all.”

  Loefwin, who had seemed eager to speak before, shifted uncomfortably under the accusing stares of the merchants and the curiosity of his guests. For a moment all was silent except for the ripples Anastasia made as she glided back and forth in the fountain pool, calming herself with her own movement. Loefwin cleared his throat and began awkwardly, “Wasn’t me that did it—not exactly. It was Fric’s idea, actually—Fric’s my other brother. You haven’t met him yet, Princess, but he’s the one who has the pomegranate now, and he’s the one who thought of it to begin with and organized the feast. I wasn’t even there. All I had to do with it was paying for Droughtsea’s services and directing the clean-up operation afterward.”

  “Clean-up of what?” Anastasia hissed suddenly, poking her head over the edge of the pool so her bill was right beside his ear.

  He jumped, looked to see who was speaking, and shook his head as if to say he’d now seen everything, before answering. “Cleaning up after Fric used the pomegranate on the charlat—mages—running the six countries that surrounded Frostingdung with their hocus-pocus and necromancy since I was a lad. When I first decided to unite these lands into a single, strong country under one competent, central authority, namely me, though my father held the Frostingdung throne at the time, I knew the first thing I had to do was counter the unfair advantages the kings of those other countries had over us honest normal Frostingdungian men. Fric—he’s the triplet you haven’t met—said he knew these fellows.” He flipped a thumb at the Miragenians. “He said they had a little plant could do the trick and that old Docho, who’s one of them, could get it for us for the right price.”

  Mashkent snorted so lustily his nose-hairs waved like banners. “Do you think one of us would have done such a deed for a price so small we would be obliged to serve as vassal to another man? The one you call Droughtsea is an outcast and a poor bargainer. Not to mention a thief of the property of others, who commits foul deeds not for Profit but merely for love of mischief.” His voice and expression suggested that a person operating from such perverse motivation was capable of anything.

  “As I was saying,” Loefwin continued, glaring haughtily at the merchant. “Fric told me what I needed was one of those pomegranate things. Well, I believed him, a bit, but I figured what I nee
ded was an army, so I left the nasty stuff to Fric. He’s always been good at it. He had the banquet for all the Mages, Kings, wazirs and other fakers and gave each of ’em some of the fruit for dessert. After that lambs to the slaughter wasn’t in it for easy—he killed them right there while they were wondering where their abracadabras went. Me and the army mopped up the rest. Iron swords and iron bracelets will do a lot to subdue minor magickers.”

  “But if the pomegranate was eaten, how’s Bronwyn supposed to get it back?” Carole asked.

  Mashkent replied, “It is a different pomegranate, of course. A new one grows from a single seed of the original. Only one plant grows each twenty-one years.”

  “How do you know Fric didn’t destroy all the seeds? How do you know this new plant exists?” Loefwin asked belligerently.

  “We have seen it in the pool of visions, whereby the Princess saw the fate of her father. With that pool we may see all that is and has been,” Mashkent said.

  “Hmph,” Carole said. “My Great Aunt Sybil can do that, and she only needs a crystal, not a whole pool.”

  “It is not a rare magic,” Mashkent said humbly, “but it is one of great utility. It enabled us to see that the pomegranate is still within the castle of the Emperor’s brother.”

  “And we want it,” Mirza said. “So the brother of the Emperor will not someday choose to employ it against Miragenia.”