A Game of Horns: A Red Unicorn Anthology

by Gregory D. Little

  “Awright, awright!” A large Deveel, a butcher by the bloody white apron tied around his waist, stormed out of his tent and clomped on angry cloven hooves toward the fray. “Knock it off! Get out of here! You’re distracting my customers!”

  Distraction, indeed! If he drew Buttercup’s attention away from his battle, it could prove fatal. I zipped between the Deveel and the combatants, and raised my face to confront his.

  “Grrrrrrr!” I snarled, showing my pointed white teeth.

  The Deveel blanched to a pale pink. I lowered my head slightly, my ears plastered low, and started to glide purposefully in his direction. The Deveel backed away, holding his hands in the air.

  “Okay, I can see it’s a personal disagreement. I get it! I’m going!”

  By the time I turned around, the battle had moved into a narrow alleyway. Many of the Deveels and Imps watching had taken to offering bets on the outcome. The red unicorn was at bay. His rump had been backed nearly all the way against a refuse heap over which flies the size of my nose buzzed. Buttercup had scored yet another five gashes on what hide was exposed on the red unicorn’s legs and breast.

  “Do you surrender?” he neighed.

  “No!” the newcomer insisted, executing another ballestra, which Buttercup easily evaded. “You surrender!”

  “Me?” Buttercup asked, twisting his body into a semicircle to confront the red unicorn. “Why should I surrender?” He lowered his horn into attack position. At that range, he could not miss the stranger’s exposed belly.

  The red unicorn pranced this way and that, but he realized he had put himself into an indefensible position.

  I sniffed. My keen nose picked up on yet another scent exuding from the newcomer: desperation.

  I interposed my head and neck hastily between the two unicorns.

  “We surrender!” I said. “Halt your fierce attack, stranger!”

  The red unicorn stopped to-ing and fro-ing and stared at me, his mouth agape.

  “You do? I mean, you surrender to me?”

  “Gleep, I was about to skewer him!” Buttercup protested. “Why should we—?”

  I raised a claw to silence his outburst. “May we know the name of our conqueror?”

  The red unicorn raised his head proudly. Both of us could see he was exhausted. Once the fire in his eyes went out, there was little left but ashes.

  “I am Donnybrook, war unicorn of Marquardt, Hero of the Mesmerance Siege, and Steed of the Gallant Lady Sir Bosena of Syrah! Whom do I have the honor to address?”

  “Well,” I said, “my pet calls me Gleep. That will do.”

  “Hail, Gleep, Dragon of the Fair, er, Garden.” Donnybrook glanced over his shoulder at the rubbish heap. “And hail to thee, Buttercup, Victor of Hamakamand, Slayer of the Cyclopedian Thesaurus, and Reaver of Umbulicus.”

  Buttercup lowered his eyes to avoid mine. I had always wondered at the history that my companion went to so much trouble to conceal. Questions could wait. The bettors at the head of the alley looked annoyed that the fight had concluded without a clear winner. A couple of them looked as though they wanted to force the unicorns to go on with their battle. A lifted lip and a low growl from me sent them in pursuit of less hazardous amusement.

  “Come with me, O our captor,” I said, wrapping my tail over Donnybrook’s withers. “The day is dry and hot. We would be honored to offer you refreshments.”

  “I have never admitted defeat in my life!” Buttercup hissed peevishly as I led the way back to our secondary quarters. Donnybrook trailed in our wake, as though shepherding his new possessions, or perhaps walking behind so as not to let us see how tired he was. “It is against my code of honor! Why did you force us to surrender?”

  “I will happily claim the defeat as my own,” I whispered back, keeping my head close to his twitching ear. “A dragon’s honor doesn’t depend on whether or not she or he has spent time in captivity. But I chose to take a leaf from my pet’s book. Skeeve would see that this fellow was woefully overmatched against your skills. If his aim was to defeat you, he would not be trying to capture you. Therefore, I surmise that he requires you for some other purpose than as a chattel. As an ally, perhaps?”

  Buttercup shook his head fiercely as though to dislodge a unicorn-fly. “Never! The Red-Pelted League and the White Company have never been allied.”

  I pushed out my lower lip thoughtfully. “Then perhaps he came to ask for your help.”

  “I owe him nothing. I have no reason to assist him.”

  I allowed a long, slow smile to touch my lips.

  “I did not say we would tender our assistance for nothing. Consider my pet and his friends and allies. They demand consideration for their expertise in solving enigmas. We can do the same thing.”

  Buttercup emitted a scornful snort. “I do not equate being taken prisoner with being employed. Why would he not simply ask us to undertake a mission?”

  “I would assume,” I said, glancing back at our momentary captor and taking in the scuffed state of his barding and the piecemeal repairs done on his headstall and other accouterments, “because he has no money.”

  My assessment was further confirmed when we offered Donnybrook a bite of hay and apples in the lush garden that served as our daytime domicile. It was in a transdimensional space behind the back wall of a small and unprepossessing tent in the middle of the Bazaar. To look at it from the outside, the canvas was stained and much mended, suggesting the extreme poverty that many Deveel merchants feign in hopes of taking advantage of buyers’ sympathy. On the inside, it was palatial, with a stable equal to many a king’s castle in other dimensions. Skeeve saw to it that suitable food for me and Buttercup was laid out on a daily basis. Price was no object. Every item, from the oats to the fire-clams, was first-class.

  I presented the sumptuous array of comestibles and was rewarded with a gleam in the red unicorn’s eyes.

  “We will sample these foods in your presence, if you are concerned whether or not they are fit for your consumption,” I offered.

  Donnybrook shouldered us aside. He knocked me sprawling, and I am no lightweight.

  “I’m sure they are all fine,” he said, and began to chomp his way noisily through our rations, including the choice cuts of meat that were intended for my consumption. Buttercup and I glanced at one another over his back. When at last the red unicorn crunched down the last sugar cube, he stuck his head into the broad, enameled water trough and slurped away until the level of the liquid dropped visibly. He must not have eaten for days.

  When Donnybrook turned away from the depleted board, I dipped my head humbly.

  “And how may we serve you, good unicorn?” I asked.

  “Why would you think I need your help?” Donnybrook asked, his nose raised in a haughty manner. Buttercup snorted. The red unicorn sighed, and his arched neck drooped. “Is it that obvious?”

  “As plain as the horn on your face,” I said. I curled into a spiral on a bale of straw and tucked my tail around my feet. “Tell us about it, great and honorable master. Leave out no detail, however small.”

  Donnybrook met our eyes. “I have behaved abominably. I need help to undo a terrible wrong. My mistress has been taken prisoner, and it is all my fault.”

  “How so?”

  “Do you know the dimension of Monsteros?” We nodded. Though I had not visited it myself, I knew its reputation well. “There is a long and endless war going on among many families. My mistress and I took arms on behalf of one of the clans against the tyrant, Jorjarrm.”

  “Gleep!” At the sound of that name, I straightened my spine. “Did you say Jorjarrm? He is still alive?”

  “Yes. He is the lord of Monsteros. We fought hard, but we were greatly outnumbered. Most of the Red-Pelted League were captured or killed. Too few of them remain free to rally.” He eyed me. “I was reluctant to come to ask for Buttercup’s assistance, knowing that he has come to be allied not only with Klahds and Perverts, but with you. Monsteros has an army of drag
ons at its beck. But we need to set my mistress free. Winter is coming, and the inhabitants of Monsteros expose their prisoners to the elements—those that they do not take as slaves or slaughter outright—in order to take wagers on how long an individual captive will last. I am afraid that Lady Sir Bosena will die. She hates to be cold.”

  “Pray go back to the beginning,” I said.

  I sat back as the red unicorn unfolded his tale of woe, complete with shadow fencing to depict how he and his mistress had defeated many foes, until they were overcome.

  “So,” Donnybrook concluded, with a breathy sigh, “I rushed to the open spell we were to have used as an escape. That propelled me through the dimensions to Deva. I knew of Buttercup’s alliance, and hoped to … I mean, he would be a worthy conquest.”

  Buttercup glared at him.

  I tented my claws on my belly and tapped them together one by one. I was not disinclined to assist him. Donnybrook was angry at the lord of Monsteros because of his mistress’s captivity. Buttercup bitterly resented being made chattel to an old rival. I was angry, because I knew the reputation of the ruler of Monsteros. Smoke shot from my nostrils, making my companions cough at the sulfurous fumes.

  “What we have here,” I said, after a long and thoughtful pause to dampen my temper, “is a three-gripe problem. I believe we can solve it, but we must move swiftly.”

  “How?” Buttercup asked. “We don’t have the ability to dimension-hop.”

  “But my pet does,” I said with a smile. I went inside the cottage to the magikal safe that housed a number of valuable items that my pet wished to protect against misuse. I spun the wheel with my claws and retrieved his D-hopper. Skeeve had never mastered it, being only a young Klahd, but I knew how to operate it safely.

  BAMF!

  O O O

  The temperature of Monsteros was not only far colder than the Bazaar, but markedly chilly when compared with the garden from which we had departed. One could not determine the color of the sky through the thick, iron-gray clouds that covered it. Snow began to fall. It settled upon the coats of my companions, but melted off my scales because of my natural heat.

  “What are we going to do?” Donnybrook asked, puzzled. “There are only three of us. We cannot hope to win through to Jorjarrm’s castle.”

  “Yes, we can,” I said. “I will make sure of that.” I knew my eyes glowed. Donnybrook jumped back in alarm.

  “Why do you hate him so much?” Buttercup asked curiously.

  “Because,” I said, fire escaping my jaws, “he collects dragons. He has enslaved dozens of my kin over the decades. My mother told me of her grandsire, who went there for promised gold and disappeared. We kept his hoard warm for ages, but he never returned home. These dragons do not fight for him willingly. We will win through.”

  “But he is all-powerful, and he keeps an enormous army,” Donnybrook said. “We can’t defeat him. That’s why I … er … retreated.”

  “He will admit us without question if we give him a present,” I said, and smiled. “Me.”

  We trotted through the snow, passing checkpoints full of hairy soldiers. Denizens of Monsteros were large, ogre-like beings with thick beards and glass circles on frames made to protect their eyes, and caps made of leather that kept the endless snow off their shaggy pates. The two unicorns kept me on a tether. I pretended to pull them from side to side, rushing up to each guard post to greet the Monsters with a cheerful “Gleep!” and an affectionate lick.

  Naturally, the guards let us pass. We left them wiping off the slime. I should not have favored them, but I was trying to make a good impression. I disliked being here, but we had given our word to Donnybrook to assist him.

  At last, we reached the Wide Castle, the center of government, and the site on which so many of the Red-Pelted League of unicorns had fallen. The Castle itself was monstrous in scope, covering the landscape as far as the eye could see, but with only one gigantic entrance—a curtain wall protected by an iron portcullis. This would not be easily escaped.

  A couple of the guards escorted us from the gate to the keep itself. A shaggy Monster herald, wearing a tabard whose charge could be described as “Per pale, dexter, on a field, gules, a flame, or; sinister, on a field azure, a snowflake, argent,” led us into the great hall and announced us. It seemed they were accustomed to admitting tributes that delivered themselves.

  As we were ushered in to the vast vaulted room, which was supported by massive white beams that looked like the ribs of ancient dragons, I beheld dragons of every size and shape being pressed into service in the most menial of tasks. A white dragon spewed pools of water over the polished stone floor, which were then rendered into steam by small red dragons. Any scum that floated up was scorched and eaten by a flock of tiny yellow dragons no bigger than my claw. Each of them caught my eye, then looked away in embarrassment. Magnificent denizens of Draco, reduced to servants and housekeepers! I was outraged. But that was not the greatest humiliation. Other dragonkin served as messengers, flying by with scrolls clutched in their claws, as pest-catchers, or worse yet, as furniture.

  At the end of the room was a massive throne made of bent swords, broken shields, crushed helms, and the skulls and bones of innumerable creatures. In this repellent seat reposed an enormous monster. I had never seen him in person, but his infamy lived on in legend and song. He was a huge, burly, ogre-like being with a massive beard that overspread the fire-and-ice device on his stained, knee-length, split-skirted tunic. He brandished a huge multipart scepter in his right fist. His booted feet were propped upon the back of a slim, female copper-skinned dragon. She looked angry but was obviously unable to move.

  We halted below the dais. To my horror, I began to feel that the female dragon was lucky to have the feet of the tyrant resting upon her. What was wrong with me?

  “Hail, Jorjarrm, ruler of Monsteros!” Donnybrook said, through teeth clenched on my right lead. “We bring you a gift!”

  “Cute!” Jorjarrm said, leaning forward and peering at me through his glass lenses. Disgusted with myself for the appeal I felt from him, I opened my eyes as wide as they would go and pranced up to him. “I could wear you for a brooch.”

  Suddenly, I felt as though I wanted to be petted and dandled by this Monster. I climbed up into his lap and slurped his face with my long tongue. Jorjarrm laughed and batted me away gently. He was so huge that I could curl up on his legs like a kittensnake on my pet’s. I could not believe it, but I wanted to do just that. I gave Jorjarrm another lick, then hated myself for the compulsion. This Monster had imprisoned my grandsire, and now he had cast some kind of geas on me. I shot a look at Buttercup, pleading for help. The white unicorn pawed the floor, not knowing what to do. The closer I was to the ruler of Monsteros, the more I felt a fraternal connection to him. Could he truly be the Brother of Dragons?

  “What shall I call you?” he asked. Monsteros natives were slightly akin to my dimension of Draco, so I could understand him, although he spoke with a terrible nasal accent.

  “Gleep!” I exclaimed.

  “Gleep, then!” Jorjarrm leaned back and laughed heartily. He brandished the massive wand. “Come here, boy! I must dub you. Come and join the Mystical Company of Monsteros.”

  So that was it! The wand created the compulsion. If it touched me, I would fall helpless to his command.

  “But I already adore you,” I said, dodging the scepter as I tried to keep my wits about me. “I do not need to be put under a spell.”

  In answer, he grabbed me by the neck and bopped me on the skull with the tip of the wand. The blow was cursory, but the effect was overwhelming. My head rang with a tone like a bronze bell that grew louder and louder until my senses were dazed. When it faded at last, I gazed at Jorjarrm. My heart filled with admiration. I could not think of a place I would rather be than in his lap. I crooned and turned over so he could scratch my chest. I couldn’t imagine why I had ever wanted to defeat him.

  “That’s better,” Jorjarrm said with a
jovial laugh. “You are adorable, but I already have plenty of dragons. What shall I do with you? I know! I shall give you to my bride-to-be as a wedding present!” He swept the scepter to include Buttercup and Donnybrook. “All three of you!” The red unicorn visibly twitched. Buttercup nudged him and shot him a warning look. “Call for my bride!”

  With a loud fanfare, the doors of the audience chamber were flung wide. Prancing female monsters clad in flowing yellow lace danced into the room. They carried baskets of scented white flowers which they scattered onto the freshly scrubbed floor. I saw the cleaner dragons, now huddled in a corner, sigh heavily.

  Two Monster heralds blew lustily on trumpets. In a moment, four Monster maidens appeared, dragging between them the female that must have been Jorjarrm’s bride. To my astonishment, she was not a Monster herself, but a Syrene, a race akin to Klahds. She was tall, strong and raven-haired, but dressed in a flowing white gown that was a dozen times too large for her, and her tresses had been braided clumsily around a shimmering diadem.

  “Mistress!” Donnybrook whinnied, rearing eagerly. So that was Lady Sir Bosena! The ladies-in-waiting dragged her to the dais and threw her on the steps. Before she could right herself, Jorjarrm reached down and picked her up with one massive hand. He set her on his lap as he had done with me. She slapped him in the face. He only grinned.

  “She’s feisty,” Jorjarrm said, gazing at her in adoration. “I love that. Look, my darling! I have presents for you!”

  “The only present I want is to go home,” Bosena said. She struggled to get down, like a toddler trapped on a great-aunt’s lap. I couldn’t imagine why she would want to.

  “Look at them, beloved,” the Monster insisted, pointing at us. “It’s a dragon! Just for you.”

  “A dragon?” Bosena asked. “You have hundreds of them! How many dragons do you need?”

  “You can never have too many dragons,” Jorjarrm said, practically. “And two unicorns! A matched set, red and white. They are your wedding presents from me. The dragon is called Gleep.” He gave her a hopeful look. I realized he truly wanted to please her, but it was not an easy task.