Well of the Unicorn

by Fletcher Pratt

  He stopped as Airar laid a hand on his knee for some small sound, but it was only a rat scuttling across the corner, and Rogai went on, though dropping his voice to whisper:

  "The Duke—what's he intend? There this matter of accepting you as noble so he gets a legal title to Gentebbi—"

  "My mother—" began Airar.

  "—of Vastmanstad? I laugh." (But he did not.) "The profit's to your father earlier in any instance. You make me quit the line. Hark—by what means does he hold these Carrhoene captains?"

  "Yourself said Alsander and the Countess Dalmonea—"

  "Aye, and Alcides and his Micton wench with whom he sits arm around body to dine. The sport of Salmonessa, as I have said. But they're mercenaries, and His Grace poor as a heathen prophet for all his brave court. The purse strings are cut while Vulk holds Mariupol; what keeps here those men of the Twelve Cities?"

  Airar waited in the dark, no thoughts on the subject, and the pallet whereon they sat trembled slightly with the movement of Rogai's vehemence:

  "I will say: it smells most frightfully of treachery, treachery. Why this reluctance to march and engage with Vanette-Millepigue before he brings all the Vulking forces to the border? Why so slow in bringing the Salmonessan barons forth? You may think the town and outside both crowded with men in arms, but Malina tells me that not one in four of the contingents has come, and none at all from Deidei, that's her father's big barony up in the mountains."

  Airar murmured that the two slownesses might not be unconnected, the Duke perhaps wanting full strength before battle, but Rogai leaped like a salmon along the stream of his own idea:

  " 'Tis treachery; he means to compose with the Vulkings for a conquest against the Twelve Cities or Os Erigu with us in the midst."

  "Well, then, what's to do? Fly?"

  "With all the gates so guarded and my five hundred exiles of Mariola? Hah! But listen—you're a master of the art magical. Can you not make a spell to hold this Duke faithful to his engage?"

  "There's no such spell, and if there were I'd never make it. This working of magics leaves me something less than a man."

  "And Dalarna something less than a people when you play at will-not. Tell me, friend Airar, is there not a spell for drawing a man to you and putting his will in your power? I have heard on such."

  Airar answered slowly, thinking on the drawing spell and what his father had told him of its use. "Aye. But the spell is of short duration and the man magicked cannot be made to do anything he has not already looked upon with some shadow of desire. Also there is required something from the very body—a nail-paring or other."

  "Hah! I'll charge myself with the details. If he but prove false, you bring him to a named place and the exiles of Mariola will have somewhat to say to him."

  He glided from his place, pressed Airar's hand briefly, and was gone without farewell. The door opened soundlessly to a streak of light, then closed again, and Airar lay down to compose himself for sleep, trying to decide whether rash Rogai's words were enough to convince him that Duke Roger was indeed false, and so to create that emergency in which he would use his gramary again. Or would that indeed be the crisis if he were traitor? Those who know not physic wish it for all diseases, and what purpose would the death or torture of that false feodling serve?

  Sleep came on him in the round of these thoughts and when he woke it was the day when the Duke was to pass his army in review among the meadows before the town and the captains to receive their assignments.

  His Grace sat on horseback on a little mound just beyond the bridge gate, with those marmoreal walls behind and his lords around him. The Pillars of Salmonessa were to march first, then form as a guard. Airar, ranking with his own band in the street Azaga, saw them go past, most formidable of look with their long-tailed helmets sweeping down to meet the flaring shoulder plates and a shield on every left arm, marching to their measured shout. He turned, hoping once more with a remark to draw one from Gython, but as usual she in her soldier-garb had slipped deep among the rest. There was a tug at his elbow and Visto said low: "Master Airar."

  "Aye, Visto, what will you have? Does not all go well?"

  "Most, but not all; I'd have a word."

  "Say it."

  "Need just being private; a long word."

  Airar thought: there would be after this inspection a banqueting, as was the Salmonessan duchy's habit. "Well, then, tonight when all retire. D'you know where I lodge? In that north round tower of the upper castle at the third stage."

  "How may I enter? These dukeish people be mighty choice about setting guards to keep all we away from those they call noble."

  "It is a thing we cannot amend while wanting his help in this war. But do you mind that heathen bow with the backcrook that Steen Snot-nose was showing yesterday? Bring it; tell the guard you've a message concerning."

  Close past them down the main street to the gate the Mariolan exiles went past with a roar of shout, not in very good order and somewhat diversely armed with rusty ring mail as they had come across the marshes with Vulking pursuit on their heels, but tall men all and grim of aspect, number over five hundreds. The Gentebbi fishers followed next, then the spears of Salmonessa city and the Baronial levies, with the knights, sergeants, and others armed to fight a-horse, in thundering steel at the close of the array. When they had all passed, saluting the Duke politely, he dismounted and held council of war on the hillcrest itself, with the cold grey clouds behind, tracing on the ground with the tip of his scabbard a design so all could see what he meant.

  "Lords and gentles," he said in his high voice, "you all know—or should—that there be two routes across the marshes between us and Mariola; the one I scratch here, running down to Viverrida mouth and so following the shore, and this other across the causeway straight through to turn north toward Marskhaun and equally south to join the main route at the shore. Now the clear expectation of these Vulkings is that we shall move by the seaward route, since that by the causeway is so narrow to admit only a few abreast, with quagmires deep on every side. Moreover, my Lord Morae, who is warden of those parts, reports his marsh-fowlers say that Vicount Isele and his half-tercia are already on guard at the seaward route, while before the causeway exit there be only some of those light-armed horsemen they call gentours. Now hear our plan: it is to leave here this day one week, but to march by the causeway and so gull them entirely. But to your charge, Basale, we give the task with certain of your band to go by the coastal route and keep this Isele amused—till we fall on his rear."

  There was a pause while Duke Roger looked for applause and indeed received it of all kinds from murmuring to cry; but one of the Carrhoene captains: "Wherefore the week? Here we are, armed and ready. What holds us from our war?"

  The Bastard of Salmonessa lifted one finger and a sly smile spread across the full lips. "Because, little man, whom do we fight? Isele? He's a sprat; the head we would see drop is that of the Red Baron, Vanette-Millepigue himself. Is't not so my lords of Dalarna?" He looked round to Airar, Rogai, and the one or two other Balecarles whom he had counted of merit sufficient to belong to that company, and receiving their growl or nod of approval:

  "Hear this, then. We have advice by way of our spies that this precious baron with a full tercia marches from Mariola but today. And whither bound? Marskhaun for certain sure; the city's in revolt against him, has admitted our aids and flies the tower and dolphin. He'll wish to punish her— oh, a keen lord for punishments is your Red Baron. Look, then, a week brings him straitly before the city. As he arrives there we burst through at the causeway, falling on him in the one direction and Isele in the other, destroying both their tercias. Before they can bring down more from Briella we'll have all Hestinga in arms; Deidei and the barons of North Salmonessa will be with us; defiance to the world.

  "You, my Lord Urdanezza, will lead the advance and have the right wing, with all our strength of knights and sergeants, the Carrhoene spears to follow. You fight the main battle with that win
g; the gentours are nothing, break through them. At the heels of Carrhoene will come Gentebbi and Mariola with the young lords Airar and Rogai; your task is to drive off any gentours who remain and those miserable peasantry the Vulkings call allies. Ourselves will follow with the Pillars of Salmonessa and the city bands, preparing to aid you, dear Lord Urdanezza, should your first charge fail, or turn south toward Isele. Thus we shall split them, shiver them, damn them utterly. How say you, my lords and gentles?"

  "A tower!" cried Urdanezza and whipped out with a clang a sword all chased in gold with the loves of the old gods to kiss its hilt before his lord, and others did the like. But it was not a Dalecarle warcry and Airar remarked amid the tumult how the Carrhoene captains, five of them, were a little aside, making many words, their hands moving fast. Duke Roger saw it as rapidly.

  "How, you foreign captains, do you not like our plan?" he asked sharply.

  One turned. "Sir, we did wish to hear the word of our brother Alcides, who is the man of most worth among us for such tricks and stratagems, as Pleiander is the fittest to command a siege against stone walls and Evides to hurrah men on when the spears are down."

  "And where would this Alcides be?"

  Before they could reply, "Alcides, ha-ha," cried one of the Salmonessan nobles. "I left him at the palace playing bubble-cup with that Micton wench of his."

  Duke Roger did not change expression. "Now it is to be seen once again," said he, "that a tree is chopped best with one's own axe. So this is our plan; gentle Basale, you leave on the morrow." He signed to the music to blow up, and with the shavehead guard giving a shout, let himself be helped into the stirrups to lead the return to the city. Airar thought the Carrhoene captains none too happy over being left from all planning, but no chance to say to any of it with the trumpets sounding, horses prancing, the shout of the guard and the procession moving into Salmonessa, with himself forced to ride a distance from Rogai, to whom he would willingly have talked. There was feasting after, formal in the Salmonessan manner, many courses from half-reclining couches, and he as a womanless man must share a place with the unlovely daughter of some petty baron from the hills against Hestinga. His eyes were elsewhere and mind on Visto; but between eye and mind, he noted that Roger the Bastard for the first time seen had no one on his couch.

  12 A Night in Salmonessa

  AIRAR WAS well asleep, being somewhat fuddled with the dinner wine, when the sound of the man of Vagai struck through to his consciousness. Visto flung down the crookbow with: "It's just bedamned that the people of one blood cannot speak without excuse in this place." He looked very sharp.

  "Nay," said Airar, "be not wroth. One may use even a poor knob to beat a pig; and it is in my mind that this Duke may turn not so poor a knob, neither."

  "Aye. If knob break not and pierce hand."

  Airar sat up, trying to shake from his head the fumes of wine and sleep and the thought that here was a second midnight warning to a purport heard before, though how could one ask more of Duke Roger than his proceeding at the muster? "What's here?"

  Visto peered round. He had brought one of those small lamps called chrysma that are the specialty of Phyladea of the Twelve, and as he glanced across it suspiciously toward the room-corners, the light threw up in his forehead wing-shaped shadows from his eyebrows, giving him an appearance almost demoniac. He came closer. "Before too much be tangled, one question, Master Airar, for asking the which I crave grace: you are in love with Rudr's daughter?"

  Airar felt the red creep up his veins and found it hard to meet Visto's gaze. "Is it contest between us, then?"

  "Oh, nay. We're childhood friends and long companions, but—"

  He paused and now himself went wordless, so that Airar, to hold his small advantage, said: "But you are fixed elsewhere?"

  Visto moved; light and eye-shadows flickered, concealing expression: "Not I; but 'tis my own affair. Yours is that your sweeting is threatened where only a lover can save her."

  "Lover? I? She'll barely speak to give me the greeting of the day, and then as soldier."

  "Then a's not just indifferent since a holds you high enough for anger. Hark: d'you know why they call this Duke Roger the Bastard ?"

  "Because he is one, I suppose. No despite to him for that."

  Visto snorted. "If it were but the one. But I have it that the whole custom of these Salmonessan dukes is never to wed, succeedng bastardy with bastardy, and the Church likes it little." He snorted. "No more does Baron Deidei, I hear, with his daughter the Duke's mistress-in-title, which he holds as disgrace."

  Now Airar caught some glimpse of what was forward and half rose in his bed. "How is this—?" he cried. "Say on, say on."

  "Well then, this Duke has sent his word to my friend and your darling, Gython, that by her feodal duty she is to come and lie with him this very night."

  A push of pain touched Airar's heart and for a moment he found it hard to breathe. "I'll slay him," he growled, hands twisting the blanket for a moment, and swung his feet to the floor.

  "Not just easy to do that with they big shaveheads all round."

  "Will she go, then? She's but to refuse him flat, and I as leader will guard her with our fisher spears to the last. This dukeling will change his tune, I warrant, when he begins to hear the swords play breakhead around his own halls."

  "We have talked on that, and Erb. She will not have it, saying it is all Dalarna's war gone down and her father's death to jig it so."

  "But that's moonshine and madness. This Duke will never alter his whole politic to make of a sweet girl a bonaroba. Is there none to tell her so?"

  Visto shrugged and the shadows danced again. "Not tall Erb. He's been consulted, says a's right, to have her at the court will make a bond which keeps Salmonessa forever faithful to the project of this war, and when men give their lives to bring down the mountain, a woman can afford her body. I'm none so sure but I am with un, yet thought your interest should just have its word to speak."

  "But, Visto, what's then to do? We must fly, leave this accurst town tonight—no, the bridges are up, there's been no ship from Gentebbi since ours, the Vulkings are sure in possession there. Hide, that's it. But where? . . . Marry her tonight, no, she'd not have me, and no bar to this Bastard's lust in any case." Airar was pacing the floor, barefoot and in agony. Visto watched across his chrysma. At length he said:

  "I'm not one of they lawmen, Master Airar, but is it not that a owes no duty feodal save through you? In our swearing we never said no nothing about this Duke."

  Airar whirled. "Aye, say that to her, will you, Visto? It may serve. Go quickly, tell her that. He's merely overlord and may not enforce such orders unless I grant it."

  He was wrenching his hands with impatience, even before the door had fairly closed on his visitor, running to the cabinet for a light and his grammarion, full aware that Duke Roger of Salmonessa would never be held from his peculiar passion by so tinsel a cry of law, even did Gython choose to employ it. He had not so been withheld from the daughter of that Baron of Deidei. No —the girl had right; any contest over her would set Roger together with the Vulkings and down Dalarna as Rogai had foretold. No— this was the ultimate hour of peril to all he held highest when he must use his father's art and call on powers beyond his own.

  He found charcoal in the fireplace and, half-naked as he was, traced the pentagram with hurried fingers. "Ia, la, Sabachthani—" moved the drawing spell, nor did he forget to include in his lines the lock of hair she had once given as a friend's gift. Outside the dull day had become black night, black and cold, with only a gleam here and there from windows in the town far down. Unlike there would be any abroad to remark the blue of his own devil-fires when they came up with the pale lost melting faces among them. Done—"so now I order you by the Seven Powers that are my servants and your masters to lead her from whose very body this token came to me and to subject her will most utterly to mine." Done—and the blue fires died, young Airar hastily blew out the light and began to dr
ess himself in the dark.

  She came so softly he could hardly hear her step at the door; in the half-light of a dying torch set in a bracket round the corner, he could see she bore a woman's garments again. "Gython," he whispered and drew her in by the hand. It felt flaccid. "Shall I make a light or will't be seen?"

  "As you desire, my lord," said she, so he struck it from flint and steel, twice missing catching the spark, and there she was in all her loveliness, but the robe was a hideous pink rag with an open fente before that almost showed her breasts, clear enough Duke Roger's gift.

  "You are safe here," said he. "Will you sit?" (For the afterrush of the enchantment was upon him and he was like to give at the knees.)

  "I thank you," she said, and, taking the cross-legged chair he indicated, dropped her hands in her lap and looked straight before her, though not unfriendly.

  "You are safe here," he repeated. "Salmoness' himself will never invade this chamber—if he knows where you are. You may hide here as long as you wish." But she did not reply nor move the muscles round her mouth, and after a moment, he said again: "Gython—I offer you all apologies and crave grace. Til make no more magics nor do aught but as you desire, to be your friend and comrade again."

  "The grace is granted. Have I not sworn allegiance to you and to be your servitor?"

  "That was Eythor, a spearman of the free-fishers."

  "But it was Gython that swore it."

  The words were warm as one could have wished, but the tone cold, cold, and her hands did not leave her lap nor the dumb look her eyes, and Airar in despair cried out: