Unicorn Valley 2: Stallion’s Heart

by Lena Austin

  “Mama only had one child of her body and Tanne’s. Chirion. He and Vena left the Valley as soon as they were old enough to do so. They knew their kind wouldn’t be welcome here, even after Father became Herd Stallion.” The filly sipped her tea with a pout. “They live among humans, of all things! As if the offspring of Vampires and Unicorns would be more welcome there!” She sniffed derisively.

  More might have been said, but shouting arose to disturb the cavern once more. The filly ran to the door of the kitchen, ready to demand quiet. She flung open the door, and stopped dead in her tracks. “Chirion! Vena!” She disappeared into the next room.

  Chantrea sighed and got two more mugs from the large collection that had been washed earlier. She filled them with tea, and placed honey on the tray as well. “I want to go home! I want my peaceful archives. I don’t want to carry endless trays to mourners anymore.” She carried the tray out the door, and nearly bobbled the tea onto the floor.

  The ones who had to be Chirion and Vena stood head and shoulders above all the rest. They took off their packs and gave them to many willing hands. Half Vampire and half Unicorn was right! Chirion was a powerfully built, red-haired man, and the bottom half of his body was chestnut equine. Vena had black hair and a black equine body. Centaurs. They were Centaurs.

  Chirion spotted Chantrea, where she stood rooted to the spot, staring. “Tea! Thank the Goddess for you!” He trotted over and took the tray before winking and saying quietly, “Close your mouth, pretty Elf. You could catch flies in that.” He then walked back to hand one mug to Vena.

  Chantrea closed her mouth with a snap and fled for home. It was too much. “You are such a coward, Chantrea!” She ran across the grassy meadow, blessing the night that hid her from the sight of the crowd now beginning to fire the torches to burn the bodies. “Is it so great a burden to remain and show kindness, even when surrounded by more people than you see in a season at your father’s court?”

  She stormed into her tree and began to strip off her clothes. “Coward! You got so used to being alone that you couldn’t bear that many people. Where is your good sense?” She stopped on her way to the baths and returned to snatch up her basket and towel.

  “Now what are you going to do? How will you explain to Shadow that you couldn’t bear it anymore? Mate of the Herd Stallion. Hah! Your mother never deserted your father, did she?”

  Her self-loathing was borne in silence as the other Elves using the facilities sported, tossed a mage-ball, swam, and talked in subdued tones. After trying to entice her to join their play, the Elves left her alone to brood. Soon, she couldn’t stand even the company of her own kind, and she departed for her lonely bed.

  Even her bed turned out to be no comfort at all. Not only could she envision Shadow beside her, the pillow held the pleasant aroma of Unicorn. She buried her nose in the softness and breathed deeply. Hugging it to her, Chantrea began to cry.

  “Here now, why are you crying?” Large, warm hands stroked her hair.

  Chantrea gasped and rolled over. Shadow stood at her bedside, looking weary, his now silver eyes glowing in the darkness. Without thought, she leapt into his arms, sobbing wildly.

  Shadow cuddled her close and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry it took so long to get away, my dove.” His soft murmur in her hair was like a balm to her aching heart. “All I could think of all this horrible day and night was getting away to your peaceful tree. I needed you so badly, but I was afraid you’d be angry that I couldn’t spend time with you.”

  Chantrea sniffled into his chest and clung tighter. “Really? I felt so guilty because I couldn’t bear the crowd.”

  “Really. I saw you leave while I supervised the funerary pyres. Oh, how I envied you! I had to be strong and pretend dignity when I wanted to go somewhere quiet and mourn, just you and I. Gods, I’m going to miss them.”

  They clung together in the silent darkness. When her heart had eased, Chantrea decided Shadow needed coddling. “Come, my darling. Come downstairs and let me feed you. No doubt you’ve had little to eat or drink, all day.” She deliberately allowed humor into her voice. “After all, the Herd Stallion must be above such things as hunger and thirst!”

  She got a weak chuckle for her pains. “Well, I can admit to you I’m starving. I couldn’t very well just start grazing near the biers, though Le-An snuck me a few pieces of apple in the darkness.” He followed her down the stairs.

  “Oh, my poor Shadow!” She manifested her finest Elven wine in front of him. “You just wait a moment!”

  In a matter of minutes, they both sat down to a fine feast of salad, fruit, and a wheel of cheese. As soon as Shadow finished one course, another appeared on the table, ending with a large roll of briocha Chantrea split in two and shared with him.

  While Shadow ate like the starving male he was, Chantrea toyed with her wine. She pondered long and hard how to ask the one question burning in her brain. Finally, she gave up and simply asked. “Shadow, why did your father die? I know your mother was ill, but Tanne Brae was perfectly healthy.”

  Shadow sighed, and bit into his briocha. “We don’t even know why Mother died, really. Brolly healed the brainstorm. But they couldn’t stop her from slowly fading away. It was as if her body stopped functioning, one bit at a time.”

  “But that doesn’t explain your father’s death.”

  Shadow nodded and stared at the table. “I know why Father died. When Brolly collapsed and was carried away, Father took over the healing. Even his formidable powers couldn’t stop it. He gave everything he had, and drained himself to the dregs.”

  Chantrea sipped her wine and thought. “I see. Unicorns live as long as they want. But they have to want to live. Drained as he was, it would have been no effort to will himself into death.”

  Shadow nodded silently, and his silver eyes welled up with tears. “I don’t blame him.” He grasped Chantrea’s free hand. “Now that I know what it is to love, I understand not wanting to live without that love.”

  Chantrea stared at his hand. Finally, she choked out, “I’ll always be here in my tree, waiting for you, Shadow. When you have time for me.” She ignored his intake of breath, and forced a cheerful expression on her face. “Speaking of time! It is late in the night and you called a dawn Council.” She pointed up the stairs. “To bed with you! You’ll need all your wits tomorrow.” She tugged on his hand until he stood, grinning. Chantrea kept her tone imperious yet full of humor. “You may be Herd Stallion out there, but my mate needs sleep and I don’t care what his rank is! Trot!”

  Chuckling, Shadow scooped her up in his arms. “Very well. But I shall need my comforts, and you top the list!” He carried her up the stairs. She barely had time to whistle out a request that the Sprites awaken them at false dawn.

  * * *

  Shadow awoke to a Sprite sitting on his chest. The tiny female tugged on his sparse chest hairs. She twinkled and pointed to the night sky, where false dawn lit the east. Another Sprite tugged on Chantrea’s hair with little result.

  “I’ll do it. Here. Thank you.” He manifested a rosebud just beginning to open. The Sprites twinkled an answer, and carried their prize out the window. He wondered if they ate them or something.

  Slipping out of bed, he took care of his morning ablutions and returned with a tray bearing tea and the leftover briocha. He set a warming spell to keep them, and departed silently.

  He didn’t want Chantrea to be there this morning. He knew what was going to happen. He trotted into the meadow and was unsurprised to see Durham and his cronies waiting. News could fly faster than a hummingbird.

  One of Durham’s friends, a young stallion named Koran, whistled through his horn. “Don’t you look fine! So, the rumor is true, eh, Shadow? Tanne is dead?”

  Durham sniggered. “Yeah, dead beside his lowly mate.” His tone was so sarcastic and derisive, Shadow was momentarily taken aback. “You shouldn’t play with other lower species, Shadow. And we all know you do.”

  Shadow saw
the ploy. Durham wanted to goad him into fighting, here and now, outside of the supervision of the Council. It would be easier to cheat. However, the tables could be turned! He laughed. “Every chance I get, dear brother of mine.”

  Everyone but Durham gasped. “Brother?” Koran choked.

  Shadow chuckled. The game had begun. “Of course, didn’t you know? Both Durham and I were sired by Talamar.”

  Durham snarled like a Werewolf through his horn. An interesting trick. “Yes, but you were abandoned and never acknowledged by Talamar!”

  Shadow rolled his eyes. “Yes, thanks to all goodness! I’m very glad to have been raised and trained by Tanne Brae instead of the Black Tyrant.” He was enjoying this.

  One of the younger stallions Shadow didn’t know stepped back a few feet. “I have no further objections to your being Herd Stallion, then.”

  Durham turned on his former compatriot, enraged. “You supported me!”

  The stallion turned a placid eye on Durham. “You said yourself that a son of the last Herd Stallion to win a place by battle should be the new Herd Stallion. This, I agreed with. A son of that Stallion does hold the honor.” If he could have folded his arms in front of him like a human, he might have done so. “Prove to me you are better than one who is the son of Talamar and who has been trained in leadership.”

  Durham swung his horn to Shadow before shouting, “He believes in equality of the species! He fucks other species! It’s sick!”

  “At least I’m not hard-up with a case of blue balls,” Shadow drawled. “As a matter of fact, I enjoy the company of other species. Fascinating conversations, soaking in delightful hot springs, and things to challenge the mind.” He paused and deliberately taunted Durham. “Surely you don’t believe their intelligence is any less than ours. Or are you looking to be a god again, Durham?”

  Durham tossed his head and snorted. “Whatever it takes, Shadow.”

  Shadow heard a collective gasp behind him and turned to find the entire Council standing at the edge of the meadow, some with their mouths hanging open.

  Chapter Ten

  Shadow deliberately turned his back to Durham in a calculated insult and took his place as Herd Stallion. Shadow felt he’d made his point to the Council.

  The Council, some showing eyes still white with shock, took their places. Le-An was the only one who showed no fear or surprise. She even winked at Shadow as she took her place in a chair made from a single boulder.

  When the councilors had recovered some of their aplomb, Shadow called the Council into session. “As you may all be aware, Tanne Brae passed yesterday,” he began. He got no further.

  Durham leapt into the center of the circle. “And we challenge your right to be Herd Stallion!”

  “Do you have a frog hidden in your mane?” Le-An laughed.

  Durham looked at his cronies. Most had slunk away. Koran remained, but shook his head. “I won’t help you win against your own brother, Durham. This is not what you stood for.”

  Durham turned back to face Shadow, shaking with fury. In private mind speech, he said, “I’ll get them later, the cowards.” Aloud, he shouted, “Fine then! I challenge you!”

  “That is your right, Durham. It is three days until Solstice. Traditionally, there’s at least a day given to prepare.”

  “Buck tradition! You do, anytime you please. I want to fight now! I don’t want to give you any more time to wiggle your way out of it.” Durham was close to lathering, he was so angry. His black coat shone with sweat, and he pawed the ground in front of him.

  Shadow made a quick glance around the Council. Most were still reeling from Durham’s revelation that he wanted to return Unicorns to the demi-deity state they’d had under Talamar. Others stared at Durham with looks bordering on pure hatred.

  “Lord Arion?”

  The Elf councilor turned his glare from Durham and nodded.

  “Have you sufficient rank to officiate?”

  Lord Arion stood. “I do!”

  “Then let’s move out into the meadow, where there’s more open space, shall we?” Shadow walked with calm dignity beyond the Council circle. As he passed Durham, he mind spoke privately, “Come along, little brother. If you are so anxious for this, then let’s flout tradition together.”

  * * *

  Chantrea awoke with a small cry, just as the sun rose. The pillow Shadow had used was cool to the touch. “You left without me! I’ll get you for this.”

  She dressed and ran downstairs, whistling for her Sprite friends. In no time at all, she was garbed appropriately. Standing in front of her mirror, she frowned in disapproval. “Something’s wrong. This isn’t right, somehow. What’s wrong?” She shook out her green gown and studied her hair. She looked as good as any other Elf at her father’s court. Then her eyes flew open. “Elf! Damn! Elf! That’s the problem. If I’m to be recognized as the loving consort to the Herd Stallion, then I must truly be that consort!”

  She paced, slapping her hairbrush in her palm. “I’ve never tried. Can I do this? What can it hurt? If I fail, then I’ll stay here and… No, I won’t! I’ll go anyway! Who cares if I’m an Elf? Oh, thunder! I do.” She checked the sun, now showing its brightness on the cliff wall. She was out of time. She’d have to try.

  Chantrea shoved her furniture against the walls, disregarding its fragility. Then she stood in the center and tried her very true first shape shift. She checked in the mirror and began to laugh. “No! No!” She shook her finger at herself in the mirror. “Not like Chirion and Vena! All the way!” Her candy-pink equine half was pretty, but she needed the entire body to be equine, not just the back half.

  She concentrated again. This time her very bones crackled, and she gritted her teeth in pain. It hurt! Goddess, it hurt so much. Her back strained, and she thought her head would burst. Her eyes hurt, even after the pain stopped. They had to hurt. She was having trouble seeing what was directly in front of her. Her head felt heavy. She stood, panting.

  “Very good!” A feminine voice, piping and sweet, came from behind her.

  Chantrea whipped around until she could see who had spoken. In the mirror was the face of a huge white tiger with blue eyes.

  “Not bad for a first shift, sweet one. Shall I come help you?” The tiger put one paw out and gracefully padded through the mirror.

  “MoonTyger! I’m so glad to see you!” Her mouth wouldn’t work well, but she could mind speak.

  The tiger stretched as only felines can, and then washed a paw delicately. “I am glad to see you, as well. Stop trying to use your mouth to talk. Use mind speech. You look like you are chewing something. That is not what a lady does.”

  MoonTyger’s accent was as dulcet as bells, but easy to follow. Chantrea laughed, and a whicker came out. “Did I succeed? Am I a Unicorn?”

  “You must tell me.” MoonTyger moved away from the mirror.

  A pink Unicorn with a very long mane and tail stared back at Chantrea. Well, that was appropriate. “Not bad. I didn’t realize these horns were so heavy.”

  MoonTyger purred for a moment. “In my home, if you please, the horns of the Kirinn are hollow. Is yours hollow?” Her huge sapphire blue eyes studied Chantrea’s carefully. “No? Then, with your permission, I will help you.”

  “Yes, please.”

  One of those massive paws struck Chantrea’s horn before she could move or blink. A tingle of magic followed and traveled down her horn to her forehead. Chantrea’s head snapped upward as if a great weight had been removed. Her “Oh!” of surprise came out as a whistle from her now hollow horn.

  MoonTyger sat back on her haunches, satisfaction radiating from her. “Now that you are more comfortable, you will perhaps tell me why others dispute the word of a historian? I am most annoyed at this insult.”

  “So am I! May I explain on the way to the Council? I’m hoping to avert a war by bringing you to them quickly.”

  “War is a blight reserved for humans.” MoonTyger rose and padded to the door. “Yes, tell me on
the way.”

  * * *

  Shadow and Durham faced off in the open meadow and waited for Lord Arion to cast the traditional magic circle. It allowed no outside interference or aid, as well as protecting those witnessing the event from the odd fireball.

  Durham pranced, pawed the ground, and wasted energy. Shadow yawned and tried to look bored. Inside, he was torn. Durham was his own brother, the last of his blood kin. He felt no love for Durham, but that was to be expected. The irony of finding out the colt who had bullied him when they were young was his relation was not lost on Shadow. However satisfying it might be to those coltish memories to take his revenge, he would beat Durham to a defeat, not a bloody pulp.

  “Are you ready to die, brother?” Durham’s overly dramatic challenge only made Shadow chuckle.

  Silence was his weapon now. Let Durham act the fool. Lord Arion was calling out the traditional rules. No shape shifting, no using bystanders in any manner, no teleporting, and only the energies contained within oneself for magic. The magic circle Lord Arion cast would cut them both off from the Valley and from outside aid. Aside from the combatants, only Lord Arion was permitted inside the circle.

  The shield wall went up first, mildly distorting the view of the crowd, now gathering by the hundreds. Many were still running up, others teleporting in.

  A glimpse of pink and white caught his eye. Who was the pink filly? What was that beside her? A white tiger? His heart leapt. A tiger? MoonTyger? Then the pink filly was Chantrea? His mind caught up with his racing heart, and a memory came to him. Chantrea’s voice last night, saying, “My mate needs sleep…”

  Durham pranced and pawed the ground. Shadow kept a wary eye on him. He wouldn’t put it past Durham to cheat in his exuberance and begin early. He wanted so badly to continue to stare at Chantrea until she felt his love pouring out.

  Why hadn’t he noticed that last night? Joy raced through him even as his connection with the Valley closed off with the activation of the circle. She loved him and accepted her place beside him. He looked again at his beautiful pink filly. His. Nothing could provide him with more incentive to win.