“And why in the name of the Blessed Saint Idalia would I have been asking for a bunch of things like that, considering that you vanished without a word and I had no idea you were ever coming back?” Harrier demanded.
“You missed me!” Kareta exclaimed in delight.
“I hoped you were gone for good,” Harrier growled.
“No you didn’t. You missed me.”
“You wish I missed you. And I didn’t. And now you’re mad because pulling that mysterious unicorn disappearing act means I didn’t ask the Elves for a bunch of things you could stuff yourself with,” Harrier said. Now that she was back he was sure he’d wanted her gone, though he hadn’t been as certain of that when she’d actually been gone. And he knew Kareta was a unicorn, but if he closed his eyes, she really sounded a lot like Hevnade Rolfort, the oldest of Tiercel’s younger sisters, who was fourteen and incredibly annoying.
“I do not stuff myself!” Kareta protested.
“Well you won’t be doing it now, because I didn’t take your provisions list to the farm,” Harrier pointed out.
“I’m sure you got at least some good things to eat,” Kareta said hopefully.
“And how in the name of the Eternal Light do I know what unicorns like to eat?” Harrier demanded. He sighed. “Yes. Probably. Maybe. We’ll see.”
“Oh, good!” Kareta galloped up the road for a short distance, stopped in the middle, and, well, capered was the best way Harrier could describe it. The early-morning sun gleamed off her golden coat, and her spiral horn sparkled like the inside of a seashell. And even while Harrier was trying to be cross, he had to admit she was beautiful.
The legends and wondertales all said that Kellen had ridden the Magic Unicorn Shalkan into battle. Looking at Kareta, Harrier just couldn’t imagine it. Until he’d seen the Light-Temple at Imrathalion, he’d always just assumed that unicorns were the size of horses, but Kareta was about the same size as the ones depicted in the carved wall panels at the Temple (the size of a small deer), and those dated back to the Time of Mages, so Harrier had to imagine that they were fairly accurate, and that unicorns hadn’t changed much in the last thousand years. He still couldn’t see how you’d ride something that size, though. Fortunately, he thought it was going to be one of the few problems he wasn’t going to have.
She came trotting back, tossing her head and looking very pleased with herself. “It’s a beautiful day,” she announced.
“Would you rather it was raining?” Harrier asked, just to be difficult. He pulled the hood of his stormcloak up and tugged it as far forward as it would go. He didn’t really need it, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to go stomping off and slamming a door between him and Kareta right now.
“Humans don’t like to get wet,” Kareta answered loftily, just as if she were an expert on the subject of humans.
Harrier decided to ignore that, as the only things he could possibly do would be to agree with her—which would make her unbearably smug—or try to argue that he did like to get rained on. And he didn’t. And he wasn’t quite sure whether or not unicorns could tell when you were lying.
“So,” Kareta said brightly, when the wagon had rolled along in silence for a few more minutes, “how do you like being a Knight-Mage?”
“I’m not a Knight-Mage,” Harrier said, because this was a point he was willing to argue.
“You’ve read your Books, haven’t you?” Kareta said, as if this were all that was necessary.
“I looked at part of one Book,” Harrier said.
Kareta didn’t say anything.
“What?” he demanded. “It isn’t like that makes me … anything. I’ve read books before. Lots of them.”
“Why are you arguing with me?” Kareta asked ingenuously.
Harrier slumped down on the bench and didn’t reply. Arguing with Kareta—even talking to Kareta—was like juggling with a ball of tar. You ended up with it all over you and no idea of how it had happened. And no way to get easily unstuck, either.
UNFORTUNATELY, IT WASN’T possible to simply ignore her. If she wasn’t asking him idiotic questions—like what sort of armor did he think he’d like to have as a Knight-Mage—she was pointing out things along the way that were actually almost interesting—like exotic sorts of trees, or the flocks of sheep grazing on the distant hillside, or mentioning that in another day or two, when they were beyond the edge of the land held by Blackrowan Farm, they’d be in country as wild and uncultivated as any part of the Veiled Lands got. Since he couldn’t shut her up, and couldn’t out-run her, Harrier was very grateful to see Ancaladar on the ground up ahead, meaning it was time to stop for lunch.
He drove the wagon off the edge of the road, onto the grass. It was always a mystery to Harrier how everything in the Elven Lands could be so neat and tidy, as if armies of invisible gardeners were everywhere, clipping the grass and raking the ground beneath the trees. Of course, for all he knew, maybe they were.
He climbed down from the bench and stretched. Elunyerin and Rilphanifel had said there was no need to unhitch the team if they’d only be standing for an hour or so, but it would still be a good idea to get them a drink if that could be arranged. He opened the back of the wagon. He’d go and see if it was possible to lead them down to the stream without unhitching them after he’d gotten the brazier set up. “You want to get off your lazy tail and help me with this?” he called to Tiercel. He wasn’t sure what was in the hamper the Elves had given him this morning, but he knew it would take two people to manage it.
“What do you—oh,” Tiercel said, peering into the wagon. “It’s full.”
“Of course it’s full. There isn’t another farm or village that we know of between here and the Madiran,” Harrier said.
“But how am I going to get at my books? Or our clothes? Or—”
“We’ll move things, Tyr,” Harrier said, sighing. “And most of this is going to be gone in a sennight or two.” You wouldn’t believe how fast it’s all going to disappear, in fact, he thought darkly. “Now come on. Lanya and Siralcar packed us some special stuff this morning, and we’ll need to eat that first.”
Once the extra hamper was out of the way, Harrier was able to get out the heavy blanket to spread on the grass, and the tea-brazier and pot, and the basket with the rest of the supplies for the meal—napkins and plates were vital when they couldn’t just hand over their clothing to household servants to get it washed. Once everything was out of the wagon, and Tiercel was setting it up, Harrier decided he had time to take the water bucket and go looking for the stream. “And don’t let her stuff herself!” he called over his shoulder, since Kareta was hovering greedily over Tiercel’s shoulder as he unbuckled the straps of the hamper.
Elven roads always followed the landscape. Harrier wasn’t sure what this road was called—possibly “Road That Goes Nowhere in Particular,” since it went in the general direction of the southern border of the Elven Lands and then just sort of stopped—but what he did know about it was that there was a stream here, and the road went along beside it, and it wouldn’t stop doing that, well, as long as there was a road at all. He supposed if you lived as long as the Elves did, you weren’t ever in a hurry to get places. At least it meant he never had to spend half the day looking for water.
There weren’t many trees on this side of the stream at all, and he decided he wouldn’t have to unhitch the team to bring the horses down for their drink. He’d let them cool off a bit first, though. They’d been working all morning.
He knelt on the bank, automatically checking to be sure that the water was clear and running freely before filling his bucket. Simera had taught both him and Tiercel, moonturns ago, how to be sure that you were taking good sweet water out of a stream.
Even now, thinking of his dead Centaur friend made Harrier’s chest hurt. She would have loved to have seen the Elven Lands! And she’d so much wanted to know what she’d always called “the end of the tale”—the reason for Tiercel’s visions, and what he was goi
ng to do about them. Discovering that Harrier was to be a Wildmage—well! He couldn’t know for sure, but he imagined the thought would have made Simera laugh until she couldn’t stand up. Light knew he’d be laughing, if it weren’t happening to him. He felt like the Mock-Mage in the Flowering Festival Plays. Only the Mock-Mage thought he had magic and didn’t, and Harrier … well, it looked like it was going to be the other way around. He had magic—or he would—but it didn’t feel like it.
When he walked back to the wagon with the bucket of water, Tiercel looked up at him in helpless exasperation. “I just set it down for a minute,” he said.
Kareta had her face in a pie dish gobbling up its contents enthusiastically. Harrier sighed. There wasn’t even any point in being angry. “You probably couldn’t have stopped her,” he said. “Unless you, you know, hit her with a lightning bolt or something. You couldn’t do that, I suppose?”
“It’s good!” Kareta said, raising her head. Her muzzle was covered with what looked like blackberries. She was purple halfway to her eyes.
“You look ridiculous,” Harrier said flatly. “And you’re a thief.” He walked over, picked up the pie dish, and skimmed it a few feet away. It hit the grass and slid.
“Hey! I wasn’t done with that!”
“Then go finish it,” Harrier said unfeelingly. He sat down on the blanket and filled the kettle. Tiercel had already lit the fire in the brazier, and the water would boil soon. “You didn’t let her get into anything else, did you?”
“No, I… no,” Tiercel said. He shrugged again. “She—”
“And you with four sisters,” Harrier scoffed. He’d have thought that Tiercel could manage one pesky unicorn, after riding herd on a house full of younger sisters all these years.
“But she’s a unicorn!”
“Okay, so none of your sisters has hooves and a tail. As far as I can see, that’s about the only difference.” He opened the hamper and began to investigate the rest of the contents.
The Elves of Blackrowan Farm had certainly given them a luxurious send-off. In addition to the pie that the two of them hadn’t gotten any of, there were several loaves of fresh bread, a couple of cold roast chickens, apples, and some loaves of the spicy fruit-bread that had been served at breakfast both days the boys had been there. There was a large piece of cold mutton as well—Siralcar had been right; the contents of the hamper would keep them for several meals. Harrier tore off a large chunk of chicken and a piece of bread, grabbed a plate and a napkin, and began to eat.
“I’m still hungry,” Kareta said a few minutes later, coming back.
“Go eat grass,” Harrier said heartlessly.
“You’re mean,” she said.
Tiercel laughed—nearly spilling hot water on himself, since he was filling the teapot. “I suppose there are all kinds of unicorns,” he said after a few moments. Harrier recognized the sound of Tiercel hastily backpedaling when he recognized that he’d said something that might hurt someone’s feelings.
“What do you mean by that?” Kareta demanded, rounding on him.
“Well, I mean, there are all kinds of people, you know,” Tiercel said. “Some that are …”
“Yes?” Kareta said dangerously. She was swishing her tail back and forth, and Harrier could tell that she had no intention of letting Tiercel get out of the conversation gracefully. So be it. Tiercel might worry about hurting her feelings, but he didn’t.
“He means some that are mature and reasonable—like him—and others that steal people’s lunches when their backs are turned,” Harrier said bluntly. Kareta rounded on him, her blue eyes wide. The effect would have been a lot more dramatic if her nose weren’t purple. Harrier snickered.
“You’re mean!” she cried. “You’re mean and hateful and I don’t like you anymore! All I’ve ever done is help you! I brought you your Books and, and—everything!”
“And you stole our pie,” Harrier said mercilessly. He’d grown up on the Armethalieh Docks, and spent a good portion of that time with people trying to wheedle him into one thing or another. It would be different if he thought her feelings were actually hurt. But he didn’t think they were. “It’s not as if you asked. Or waited to be asked,” he added.
“That’s not fair!” she burst out.
“Actually, it probably is,” Tiercel said meditatively, as if the idea had just occurred to him. “I know you and Harrier argue all the time. But he’s always shared his food with you. And so would I.”
“All right,” Kareta said, stamping her foot. “I said I was hungry. Give me some of the bread. You’ve got a lot.”
“No,” Harrier said around a mouthful of chicken.
“And that’s fair too,” Tiercel said, as calmly as if he were the High Magistrate herself.
There was probably a long explanation that would have followed that, but Kareta didn’t stick around to hear it. Tiercel had barely gotten half his next sentence out before she wheeled away and galloped off, and in only a few seconds she was only a bright spark in the distance.
“She is fast,” Harrier said calmly, reaching for the teapot.
AFTER THEY FINISHED their meal and packed the food away again, Harrier led the horses carefully down to the stream edge. He could wash the cups and plates while they had their drink, and then pack the last of the gear away. Then he’d be on the road until dusk. Ancaladar would have mentioned if he was likely to run out of road today, so he knew he wouldn’t, but he knew the road would end in a few days more at best. Then he’d be steering by the sun and the stars and whatever landmarks Tiercel and Ancaladar could provide on their overflights.
He was kneeling on the streambank, setting the last clean dish on the grassy verge, when he felt a sudden sharp blow between his shoulder blades and went sprawling into the water. Fortunately the stream wasn’t that deep, but he inhaled enough water that he came up coughing and choking, blinded by a faceful of mud. He scrubbed it hastily out of his eyes—smearing it everywhere—and spun around. He didn’t know what had hit him, and he’d never forgotten that Tiercel had enemies even if he didn’t.
Kareta was standing on the bank laughing her fool head off.
For a moment Harrier was so furious he couldn’t breathe. Then he took a deep breath. “Always pick your fights,” his Da had told him. Of course, his Da had also whaled the living daylights out of him on the few occasions he’d ever picked them with anyone smaller or weaker than he was. Or a girl. And while Harrier doubted very much that Kareta was weaker than he was, she was definitely a girl. And if he chased her, he couldn’t catch her anyway, so he guessed keeping his head right now would fall under the heading of picking his fights.
He stood in the middle of the stream, thinking all this through—because he didn’t quite trust himself to remember all of it if he got within reach of her. And he thought about being cold and wet and how his back hurt—she must have kicked me, he realized. “You’re a bully,” he said slowly, and the last of his hot anger faded. “That’s all you are.”
Whatever reaction she’d been expecting from him, it wasn’t that one. “You look funny,” she said hopefully.
“Yeah, right.” He walked carefully out of the stream and up to the bank. Kareta backed away as he approached, but he ignored her. He picked up the dishes and dropped them back into the basket. The horses regarded him curiously. He was lucky they were placid, well-trained beasts, because if they’d spooked and tried to bolt when he’d gone flying, they could have hurt themselves and smashed up the wagon as well.
He tucked the basket into the back of the wagon, and then backed and turned the team carefully until he could lead them back up to the road.
“You aren’t mad, are you?” Kareta asked, trailing after him.
Harrier stopped. “You know what?” he said. “I was wondering why you were here—well, mostly, why you kept hanging around. And I think it’s because you really don’t have any place else to go. Because if you act this way with everybody, it’s hard to imagine that you’ve got
any friends.”
By the time he’d led the team back up to the side of the road, Kareta had vanished again. Tiercel and Ancaladar were already gone—off up into the sky, Harrier guessed. It took him the better part of an hour to unpack the wagon enough to find fresh clothes and a towel, towel himself dry, and pack things up again. His boots were soaked through, so he left them inside the wagon where they’d dry slowly, and put on his camp boots. The rest of his clothes he spread out over the tops of the hampers on the sides of the wagon to dry as he drove.
HE DIDN’T SEE Kareta for the rest of the day. When the shadows started to lengthen, he picked what looked like a good place and pulled the wagon off to the side of the road—he hadn’t seen any other travelers, but that wasn’t any reason to block the road if someone came along—and unhitched the team, and got out their feed buckets, scooped grain into them, and set them out for the horses. A few minutes later, Tiercel and Ancaladar landed.
“You’ve got mud in your hair,” Tiercel said, walking over with Ancaladar’s saddle in his arms. “And you changed your clothes.” He glanced around curiously, obviously looking for Kareta.
“I haven’t seen her,” Harrier said. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging more flecks of dried river bottom. “She kicked me into the stream after you left, so I kind of had to. Change my clothes, I mean.”
“She did what?” Tiercel said. He sounded shocked.
“Kicked me into the stream,” Harrier repeated, sighing. “I guess she wanted to pay me back for saying she stole the pie. And for refusing to hand over the rest of our lunch.”
“She could have hurt you!” Tiercel said.
“Tyr, I don’t think that even occurred to her,” Harrier said fair-mindedly. “She just wanted to pay me back.”
“What did you do?” Tiercel asked cautiously.
Harrier shrugged—and winced, because it certainly felt as if there was a bruise back there. “Called her a bully. Unicorn or not, people who sneak up on other people and knock them into streams because they don’t get their own way are bullies.”
The Phoenix Endangered Page 12
