by Dave Gross
The unicorn stamped and shook its head. Its hoof smashed a root thicker than my leg.
"Stay up there, girl."
Kemeili climbed higher to avoid the reach of the unicorn's horn. She needn't have bothered. It was me the beast wanted.
Horses never liked me, even when I was a kid. Neither did donkeys, mules, oxen, cows, or that damned camel some crazy Osirian brought to Egorian a few years back. Dogs and cats? Not a problem. Pigs, rats, ferrets, chickens? Well, I hated chickens for other reasons, but animals generally weren't the problem. Riding animals were the problem.
I darted behind a thicker tree. The unicorn came for me. I kept circling until our routine started to get comical. For a second I thought about climbing up beside Kemeili and shouting for help, but I wasn't sure they'd hear us all the way back at camp.
I made a run for the stavisiberry patch. It was no good for shelter, but that's not what I had in mind. When I heard the unicorn closing, I jumped to swing across the shortcut branches.
The brute never stood a chance. He ran right into the patch. The shrubs didn't hurt him, but they slowed him enough for me to get to my jacket. I didn't bother trying to shrug it on. I just pulled out the big knife and put my back to another tree.
"All right, big fellow." He was definitely a fellow, and big didn't begin to describe him. I pointed the knife at his spiral horn and considered making a crack before realizing it'd be lost on the dumb beast.
The unicorn didn't need my encouragement. His hooves scratched out divots the size of my head from the ground, tearing away the berry plants. When he was free, he shot toward me.
I wished I'd put on the jacket, but I doubted it would save me from that horn. It looked fire-hardened, like those Mwangi spears the boss had on his library wall. It'd go straight through me if I didn't get out of the way.
Forget the dodge-and-stab. I scrambled behind another tree instead. This time the unicorn corrected course in time to avoid stabbing the trunk. As its head passed near, I slashed at its muzzle.
It should have been an easy shot, but at the last second something made me hold back. I couldn't tell you what that was, not exactly. Maybe it was something in the unicorn's eyes. They were so wide I could see the bloodshot whites ringing its irises, blue as cornflower petals. Its flared nostrils revealed pink skin inside. It was at least half as scared as it was mad, but it was too brave to back down.
We played ring-around-the-roses again, but only for a few seconds. With a deafening crack, Kemeili's whip lashed out and left three long red wounds on the unicorn's flank. She stood naked and defiant as she shouted, "Get away from him!"
Her expression turned from fierce to fearful as the unicorn turned toward her. I called her name, but she'd already twisted the whip handle. She snapped the whip up and pulled herself into the branches, out of reach. Again, she needn't have bothered.
The unicorn had only pretended to charge her. The crafty brute wheeled all the way around and ran straight for me. I hesitated for a moment.
A moment was all it needed.
My feint was no good. As I swayed to the left, the unicorn tossed its head and brought its horn up beneath my arm. The tip stabbed straight through my biceps and lifted me off the ground.
The unicorn shook its head, tossing me around like a straw doll. The pain screamed in my face, painted my eyes red. It sucked the breath from my lungs, leaving me nothing for a good curse.
Kemeili cursed for me, but her harshest words weren't enough to distract the beast. It threw up its head, flinging me off its horn and onto the ground. Then it reared, flinty hooves poised to crush my skull.
A gray blur struck the beast's hind legs. Knocked off balance, the unicorn fell onto its side. It tried to stand, but Arnisant materialized like a monster from one of the boss's scrolls. The hound was everywhere at once, nipping the unicorn's tail, its flanks, and even its muzzle until the brute swung its horn around and shied him off.
Arnisant backed away, but not from fear. He had some slippery moves, that dog. If he could keep the thing occupied for another second or two, I knew I could stand up again. My arm was dead, but that's why I had two. The trick was to remember where I'd put my legs. After that, I was sure I could get at least one back under me. For the moment, the best I could do was lift my head.
Kemeili dropped down from the tree to harry the unicorn with her whip. She sprinted in to lash it before jumping back behind shelter. I didn't blame her for being careful. That horn was nasty. I shoved my thumb into the gushing hole it left in my arm, but it wasn't enough to stop the flood.
Fearless Arnisant kept going in for the bigger animal's hindquarters. I don't care how brave you are, when jaws like Arni's dive in for your tenders, you move them quick.
"Stop it!" boomed a voice. "Call off that dog."
The sun was a candle compared to the white light of Oparal's sword. She held it up like a torch.
The unicorn froze at the sight of the paladin. Oparal spoke again, her voice so strong I had a hard time doing anything other than listen to her. "Stop."
The unicorn tossed its head twice before bowing in her direction. I couldn't tell whether its eyes were locked on her face or on the sword. Either way, the thing was mesmerized.
"Arni, come." He did, and I shot Kemeili a look that told her she'd better join us. She helped me sit up. The wound in my arm was flowing copiously, as the boss might say. When she wiped away the blood, I could see through the hole.
While Oparal kept the unicorn busy, Kemeili pressed a palm on either side of my wound. She said a prayer, and I felt a buzzing in my arm.
"Ow!" I hissed away the rest of the sting. When she removed her bloody hands, I saw a thick knot of a scar remained where the hole had been. "Thanks."
The unicorn moved closer to Oparal, a few steps at a time. The paladin held her sword high. For a second I thought she meant to chop off the beast's head.
I hoped she'd wouldn't.
I had no idea where that sympathy was coming from. The damned thing had tried to kill me. Still, I couldn't wish it dead. I just wanted it to stop trying to make me dead.
Confused or charmed or whatever, the unicorn knelt before Oparal. The paladin sheathed her sword and touched the unicorn's battered head. One of its ears was gone, a scabby rash of pustules covering that side of its face. Its eye on that side was paler than the other. I shuddered to think where it would have hit me if it weren't half blind.
Oparal crooned over the unicorn. Her voice tamed it until the brute lay still as a sleepy babe. Where her hand touched its damaged pelt, the wounds stopped oozing but didn't vanish. Its ashy coat lightened under her fingers, but didn't turn white. Unicorns are supposed to be white, I thought.
The beast pushed against Oparal's legs, forcing her to sit and let it lay its head on her lap. The gesture reminded me of Arnisant in the last of his puppy days, before the boss trained him better. The unicorn wanted to be petted.
It wanted to be loved.
The way the unicorn curried Oparal's affection, I knew he was more than an animal. Like Arnisant, he could be a companion. A buddy.
Pressing her hands against his wounded flesh, Oparal mended what she could of the unicorn's head. Then she moved back and produced a little jar from her pouch. I thought she might rub ointment onto the unicorn's wounds. Instead she painted a little yellow starburst on her brow. She made another mark on her lips, and a third in the center of her breastplate. Then as if the rest of us weren't even there, she began to pray.
Her words pulsed like the beat of a drum. With every repetition of the same phrase, she struck the unicorn's body. She slapped his neck, beat his shoulders, and pounded his ribs. Wherever her hands struck, the weeping sores dried, the scales fell away, and the bruises faded. But in the end it didn't matter how much light or radiance or whatever it was she got from Iomedae: she ran out of juice before she could heal more than a fraction of the unicorn's wounds. The animal was still ugly, scarred from hoof to muzzle. He craned his neck toward he
r.
Oparal stood and shook her arms the way you do after a tough fight. I realized I'd been staring, and I wasn't the only one. The boss stood not far away, Arnisant at his side. Caladrel and Thimblefiggit had joined him. They all stared at the paladin and the unicorn. Kemeili reappeared a moment later, fully dressed with her whip secured to her belt. I hadn't even noticed she'd left.
"Rise," said Oparal. The unicorn obeyed, its eyes locked on her face the way Arnisant looks to the boss for instructions. Oparal pointed into the forest. "Go."
"That's ...unexpected," said the gnome. His voice was equal parts astonished and lively.
The unicorn shook his head and whinnied.
"Go," said Oparal. "Return to the forest. Trouble us no more."
"What is she saying?" whispered Kemeili. "Doesn't she realize how seldom—?"
Caladrel shushed her. "It is not for us to speak at this moment."
The unicorn reared up and wailed the most sorrowful sound I'd ever heard. It was almost like language, only I couldn't understand the words. Even so, there was no mistaking his meaning. I love you. Let me stay.
"You aren't wanted here," said Oparal.
"Don't!" said Kemeili, stepping forward. "It's offering itself to you. How can you refuse?"
Caladrel pulled Kemeili back. "Don't interfere."
I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what. Best I could do was stand up.
The boss stared slack-jawed at Oparal. He'd seen a lot of crazy stuff in his ninety-some-odd years, but I bet he'd never seen this before.
Oparal slapped the unicorn's rump. "Go!"
The unicorn reared again, this time turning toward me as it shied away from Oparal. He stamped the ground with those blackened hooves. He looked straight at me with his good eye and screamed again. This time his voice held no love or sorrow, only hate.
Part of me wanted to shoot him the tines, show him I wasn't scared. Instead, I grimaced at the glare of his pain.
The unicorn turned and dashed away.
Kemeili was weeping. "How could you be so stupid? So cruel?"
Oparal turned on Kemeili. "You would hardly understand."
The boss spoke, his voice cracking. "The unicorn has fought against the demons. Its scars, both those we can see and those we cannot, have rendered
it ..." he tried to find the right word and came up with
"...imperfect."
The paladin set her jaw and nodded. "A paladin must inspire people. Noble as it once was, the poor wretch is no fit mount for a warrior for Iomedae."
"What? It's not pretty enough for you? Those are battle scars!" Kemeili sputtered. "You conceited...pompous ...Forlorn ..."
"Kemeili!" Caladrel pulled her away, this time not so gently.
Oparal chafed at the word and looked like she might have a few words of her own for Kemeili, but then she spotted my usually hidden treasures. I was glad for the warm summer air.
I winked at the paladin. "See anything you like?"
Her reserve cracked, but not the way I'd hoped. When the fire reached her eyes and her hands closed in fists, I thought maybe I was in trouble. Instead, she spun on her heel and walked away.
"She does that a lot," I said, turning to see whether I'd amused the others, anyway.
Caladrel shook his head as if I'd said something stupid. He let go of Kemeili's arm and walked back to camp.
"What?"
Kemeili slugged me on my bad arm. Even healed by magic, it still hurt. "Shut up, you idiot."
I looked around for support. The gnome threw up his hands and turned away.
I looked to the boss for sympathy. "You aren't going to tell me to shut up, are you?"
You could draw a picture of disappointment, and it would look like his face did then. He summoned Arni to heel and walked away.
Chapter Seven
Erithiel's Hall
Varian
This place was ancient before the elves first came to Kyonin." I pointed along the length of the sinuous barrow mound whose course we had followed for miles. Fimbulthicket and the elves needed no lesson in elven history, but I wished to offer Radovan some background. "The hero Erithiel came to Golarion from the First World to fight the great serpent Garukresh. Their battles left deserts and oceans in their wake. At last Erithiel defeated the serpent and carved out its corpse to make his own funeral mound."
"No, that's not true," said Fimbulthicket.
"Pardon me?"
"That's just a story."
"Of course we must make allowances for the embellishments of historians who fancy themselves bards, but numerous sources cite the tale of Erithiel as—"
Fimbulthicket shook his head, an irritating smile on his pale lips. No doubt he sought an argument, a solicitation of his opinion, any diversion to take his mind off the tedium of repeatedly using his Green magic to set nonlethal traps behind us. Despite Caladrel's best efforts to throw the creature off our trail, the unicorn continued to follow us. Regardless, I disliked the gnome's cheeky tone and the way the elves smiled at his insolence. "I was unaware that you are also a scholar of elven history," I said. "Please enlighten me."
"Your people didn't come from the First World, did they? Besides, how long have you been in Kyonin?"
He knew perfectly well that I had been in the country barely more than two weeks. "That hardly matters. I have read many books, some translated from the oral history of the most ancient elven bards, and the predominant opinion— Why do you look at me that way?"
Oparal shrugged. "I always heard that Erithiel was a name given to any fey hero in those days. It wasn't one person."
"Be that as it may, one of those heroes slew a great serpent. The chronicles are explicit on this point."
Caladrel cleared his throat.
"Perhaps you can illuminate us on the matter," I said.
The ranger grimaced. "The chronicles of which you speak... they wouldn't happen to include Emerald Dreams, would they?"
"Well, certainly that is one of the sources on which I—"
"Fairy stories," said Fimbulthicket. "Bedtime tales for children."
"Naturally I approach all secondary sources with a healthy skepticism. Yet surely I can perceive the difference between scholarly work and so-called histories written to the advantage of one or another political faction. Even in my native Cheliax—"
"No, Varian." Kemeili giggled as though amused by a small child. I disliked the wry smile forming at the corner of her mouth, and I was beginning to regret inviting her and the others to use my personal name. There was something about the way she pronounced it that I found uncomfortable. "Fimbulthicket means stories literally written by fairies."
"Sprites, spriggans, brownies, pixies, others," said Caladrel. "Also some elven bards, of course, but even our chroniclers leaven their tales with romance. In any event, that particular volume is not to be trusted for historical accuracy."
"But it is known throughout the Inner Sea region as a legitimate source of elven lore."
Oparal shook her head, evoking broader smiles from Caladrel and Kemeili. Fimbulthicket held his nose to stifle a laugh.
"Forgive us, Count," said Caladrel. "Our chroniclers prefer to keep human scholars more entertained than enlightened."
"Ha!" Radovan coughed to cover his outburst, but his grin gave him away. The matter of the unicorn had briefly deflected the elves' disapprobation from my error with the Walking Man, but within a day I noticed my bodyguard comparing weapons with Caladrel, joking with Fimbulthicket, and canoodling openly with Kemeili, whose affections remained undiminished. It was perhaps too much to hope that he was learning as much about her true motives as she was learning from him.
I fixed Caladrel with my most remonstrative gaze. "Surely that is no way to treat friends and allies."
It was Oparal's turn to cough.
"That's why I don't mind telling you the truth," said Caladrel. "You are a friend to Prince Amarandlon, and thus to Kyonin."
It was a trifle much, but I
accepted the compliment with a nod. "What of the historical record? Do the scholars of Kyonin not care what neighboring nations think of their chronicles?"
"Have you looked at a map recently?" Kemeili shook her head impatiently. I was beginning to lose my own patience with this condescending behavior. No matter how little they esteemed my human heritage, my title and my elven blood deserved some measure of respect.
Caladrel frowned at Kemeili, but then he explained, "Across the Glass River live the Razmiri. They breach our border so often we're effectively at war. Beside them, the River Kingdoms exist in a constant state of conflict. To the east lies Galt, where men and women prove their zeal by betraying and beheading their neighbors. And the people of Taldor are so decadent—"
"You have made your point," I said. No doubt he would find nothing favorable to say about the empire, at which point my patience must end.
"Perhaps you will uncover something new and claim firsthand discovery of our history," suggested Caladrel. He indicated a site less than a quarter of a mile to the south. In the afternoon sun I spied an excavation in the western side of the mound known as Erithiel's Hall. Plentiful weeds and wildflowers had begun filling the gaps left by the diggers, but I saw no sign of an encampment.
It occurred to me that we had been traveling south for hours only after following a northwestern course most of the day. I looked around. To the east I spied three distinctive hills leaning together as if in conference. Caladrel had led us well around them, while it was obvious that passing nearer would have allowed us to reach our objective hours earlier. I wondered what he was hiding.
I completed my circuit of our surroundings and shaded my eyes as I studied the site to the south. "They barely did more than remove the sod."
"No excavation remains here for long," said Fimbulthicket. "The elves like to say it's because they're cautious."
"That's true," said Caladrel. "There's no telling what might lie beneath this ridge."
