Well of the Unicorn

by Fletcher Pratt

  "Have you come to see how war is made, young master?" asked the Carrhoene, cheerfully, patting one of the supports like a lover. "These toys are kittle as women, but if they march, naught stands before them."

  "Good luck to this one, then," said Airar.

  "Aye—needed." Pleiander wagged his head like a teetotum, mood changing in a flash. "Here's the key of the siege, Master Airar, for all your ramping around the waters. Never have I seen men who so labored in the face of all setbacks as these Vulkings; they are demons, and will have battering-rams against the wall-foot in another moon, when good-bye castle."

  "Is there no counter to such rams? I had thought—"

  "A dozen, if there be enough people for the devices. But what shall we do here with our handful against two full tercias and the marooned of Permandos?"

  A Carrhoene sergeant plucked at his captain's arm. "Sir, all's in readiness."

  Pleiander turned and raised a hand. "Cut, in God's name!" he shouted. An axe flashed, the huge counterweight came down with a deliberation that turned to flying speed, arm and sling flung up, there was a crack that seemed to rack the castle as it collided with the check—and Airar ran to peer with Pleiander through a gap in the mantlet, as the withy basket of stones flew in a long parabola, spilling part of its contents, past the northernmost of the twin towers, to shatter among the rocks below. An utter miss; Airar turned again, but could have spared compassion, for Pleiander was dancing with joy, shaking a fist as he shouted: "Pollute! Pollute! I'll pollute your bathless arses, frog-spawn of Lacia!"

  "Was it not well from the true line leftward?"

  "Bah! A facile adjustment. Diades! The throwing axis a foot to the right; I expect it to be done before another dawn. The question was the carry of that big jointed throwing-beam—for look! it cannot be lengthened without rebuilding all, and where's the time? But now all's well and we have gained, the siege will surely be broke."

  "By this one tool? How?"

  Out there opinion chimed with the Carrhoene. Shouts were faintly borne and more catapult balls discharged where they stood beside the tall engine, as in a passion.

  An expression of intense foxiness came into Pleiander's face, he placed one finger beside his nose: "Nay, Master Sharpsight, Eyebright, there's been too much of sayings that end with those Vulkings' having a full tale. I would not tell my own lover so much; why should I tell you for yours?"

  Hot retort hovered behind young Airar's lips, but he withheld and went to seek Poe, who said, when the question was put, that he was a free companion, not much of a man for sieges formal, but saw nothing in this to make a mystery. The trebuchet was of all war engines the most frightful and could break down mountains—

  "I have heard so much from Pleiander himself," said Airar somewhat dryly.

  "Well, then, their towers are of wood, not built to stand such bruises as Pleiander's pebble-tosser can give them. Let him break the front of one, through those hides with which it's hung; the next cast with fire, and though it miss once or twice, not forever, and they'll roast rarely. Hah! There'll be drink poured in the council hall tonight."

  It was in Airar's mind to ask with what reason, since the victory was still unwon nor did it seem to him that those hard sons of Briella would give all up even were their towers burned a second time. Yet, not wishing to be spoilsport, he said nothing then nor when Poe was borne out by a revel louder than for the triumph in Bear Fjord, perhaps because then they came home weary and wounded after a sleepless night, perhaps because Carrhoene felt a necessity to make itself great beside him. Even Evadne was in a seat, though Meliboe the enchanter, no. Almost the last drink in Os Erigu came to the board, for though the sea-blockade was now broke in pieces, it had not seemed good to spare men on a voyage to seek provision till the land siege were relaxed. Airar marked, not specially marking, that the Earl had a new cupbearer, no languishing lad; and for that matter neither was Alsander on this night, though a man usually judgmatical. When the roast was slit, the cup poured, and the dancers on the floor within the tables, he called one to him and began stuffing gold aurar of the Empire down between her breasts, a torture she bore with right good humor.

  All the talk turned loud and loose and Airar of Trangsted hardly knew which way to look, as words ran on the last great feasting, when the cup of war was drunk. It was shouted at him publicly, whether he had lain with the Stassian wench yet?

  "And is she as hot as her mother?" cried Mikalegon, madly. "When she was the Knight of Bremmery's daughter in my youthful years, no well-born lad was counted pubertous till he had split her legs apart. I went down to Bremmery villa in Gentebbi islands to prove my manhood and so gain my father's inheritance, but the Emperor that was then Prince Auraris devanced me, and liked the sport so thoroughly, he must even wed her at the Well."

  Airar rose furious and might have thrown his mug or otherwise made stories, but before it could be done" the door at the base of the hall burst open and one rushed in with a high shout: "Lord, Lord, the castle burns!"

  Not a man but followed Airar to his feet, there was a rush for doors and out, with Alsander spilling his dancing-girl to the floor. In very fact a blaze was leaping from where the Black Tower stood against the sea-wall, and through every window of it, long tongues of flame licking, the roof had already gone in, and along the south wall booths that had held the free companions were caught, their tops going like wildfire under press of a strong wind from the sea.

  "Have down some of those buildings! Fetch water! Blow the trumpet!" bawled Mikalegon, running, his face all twisted in the flamelight, and men were hurrying to his shout, the leaders not less than the rest, though Airar felt a stricture round his heart, less thought than feeling, that this was a blaze not to be put out. Then Evimenes pointed with a cry, and they could see how two-three brands were already on the roof of the council-hall itself. Pleiander's eye seemed to start from his head; only Alsander kept his head to cry: "We can never do it. They will attack for sure as we fight fire. Brothers, collect the men and to the ships. Carrhoene, this way!"

  At another time Airar might have found counsel to stay this flight, but now his mind beat like a wild bird in a cage against the thought that between burning booths and hallroof already alight lay the house that housed Argyra. Erb? Not visible. He flung to Gynnbrad or another: "He has right. Bring all our people to the pier," and ran across the courtyard. There was no light at window; he shouldered the door and went pitching across the smaller outer room when it was not locked; pulled up and burst through the inner door, crying: "Up and out!"

  He might have spared himself the trouble. All were up and in a tableau hard to resolve by the dim light of a chrysma—the servant crouched on her haunches, Argyra in a cloak hastily wrapped round, with one enchanting shoulder bare and her head buried in the golden sister's arms, who looked across stonily to the other wall, where leaned Evadne of Carrhoene, lips drawn, palms outspread backward for support. There was blood on her blue gown; before her stood Erb the Lank, with a shortsword point levelled at her heaving breast, who turned to Airar:

  "Now here's the judge to judge," said he. "Master Airar, this dame has just tried to slay the little princess of the Empire, Argyra. Shall I run a through? The which I might ha' done out of hand but for fear of witch-guilt."

  "Strike!" said Aurea, angrily; Evadne's mouth worked, and "Aye, strike," she said, hard and quick. "I do not care what else I lose now. Strike, whoreson bastard."

  "No—" almost gasped Argyra, lifting her face: "There's no harm; naught to avenge."

  "What's this tale?" said Airar. "Madam, will you truly do black murder?"

  "Fa! There are those would say I sought to save lives and cause from treason. These have communion with the Vulkings and have now raised this blaze; but I have failed. Strike, and make an end of one who's but served you."

  A little wrinkle leaped between Argyra's brows, and her face tensed suddenly to concentration. "I do not believe it," she said in a voice clear as a song. "I do not believe you h
ave so much as thought it. You found us bed-lying, sleeping sound, and would know then if never that nor my sister nor I would set a fire and lie down in its path. Now you shall tell me why you seek my life, or I will indeed add my voice to the rest that urge strike, and I think my friend Airar will hear."

  She reached a hand to take his in a thrilling pressure, and through the opened doors a gust carried a wisp of smoke that made them both cough with the reminder they stood in deadly peril, but Evadne of Carrhoene did not mark. Her hands came away from the wall, she bowed her distorted face in them, then flung them back aside:

  "Because I love him . . . my frog . . . I'd cut your throat and a thousand more to keep him from you. . . . I'd share him with you—but no, you Stassian fireside cat, you'd be one that let her man no leman. You do not know what love may be, the passion that shakes, and will be satisfied at any cost. Mew, purr, laugh! You will win him now, and I have failed. Strike, Captain Urd, Erb, or whatever your name is. Make an end." Her voice sank so low Airar could hardly hear. "Curse you, Lord Airar, my love and hate, you have right in the long. Go on to your house-cat; marry her, all fenced round with priests' blessings; I could never stand it. I'd love you fierce and free, no bonds but those in which I hold myself—and they're the ones that bind, for I have been faithful to you alone, though you will doubt it. No, you have right and we wrong; we of Carrhoene are too turbulent, know no laws but those we make, and love loves to live by another's law. All's lost—ah, strike!"

  Her body writhed toward the sword-point, but Argyra said: "Lady, you must seek toward the Well of the Unicorn, which can give peace from every despair," and Erb lowered his blade before it touched, saying anxiously: "Master Airar, see how smoke thickens and thatch above us cracks. We must make haste." Two big tears stood on his cheek and another pair had run down his thin jaw.

  On that Airar woke as from dream. "Put up your blade," saying to Erb, and to Argyra, "Come!" as he haled her toward the door.

  "My robes," said Princess Aurea.

  "Burn with them or come," flung Airar, and Erb half carrying the Carrhoene, they were out into a court tormented by the roar and glare of fire, the council-hall roof burning as Sthenophon's ships and had burned, and a tongue of flame licking at the lowest shot-window of the baillie. Argyra stumbled, Airar lifted her lightly over an obstacle, there was a confused peening sound from behind and rightward, and they were on the quay, where the two tall ships already moved on sweeps and the row-galley had men in confusion, beginning to shove free.

  "Miaouw!" shouted Airar at the top of his voice, and the catcall was enough heard to bring free-fishers to attention, the galley's bow bore in. He swung the girl up daintily to reaching hands. "Where's Mikalegon? Where's the Earl?"

  "Not aboard here." "The tall ship Dragg." "I saw him—"

  "Ho!" came a voice across the widening water. "Have you his lordship?" and faint answer, "Nay; with you."

  Airar turned with: "Attend till I come."

  "Hold, young master, nay—" called Nene of Busk's voice from the galley deck, but the lad of Trangsted was already pelting up the quay and never caught the end of that word, nor marked feet thudding on the pave behind him as one or two jumped down to follow.

  Ahead shapes moved and flew obscurely against the background of flame and falling things. Cinder and brand drifted past; it was not easy to breathe. His guess was the angle where hall did not quite meet with baillie. The Earl kept a cabinet building there, in which he slept when not at the Black Tower. It was a good guess; as Airar ran up to it, shaking a burning flake from his shoulder, one of the vague flitting forms resolved itself to Mikalegon. He had his battle-axe in his two hands; his shoulders heaved as he drove it hard into splintering wood at the door-pillars, then turned to show a face from which all wit had fled.

  "Good," he said. "One's faithful. Get an axe. If we have this one down it will not leap to the keep nor the inner battlements take. Come, hurry, in Hell's name!"

  "Lord and friend," said Airar, "come; it is too late."

  For all reply, the big man grimaced fiercely and would have struck the next axe-blow at Airar, had not the young man stepped nimbly aside. The Earl swivelled round for another stroke at the rending pillar. Nothing to do; Airar whipped the dag of Naaros from its hang, and reversing, tapped the pommel hard behind the Earl's left ear as he leaned forward at the base of his blow. The big man sagged, but Airar trying to catch him was pulled down too, he was like a huge limp side of butcher's beef. A voice said: "Young master, you take the feet and we the head," and behold! Here were witless Poe and Tholkeil of Mariola that had followed him back, so there was gratitude in the world, after all.

  Stumbling, staggering, with the limp Earl between, they made their way down to the quay as the scorch blew round, and were hosted aboard, Earl and all. Erb was at the steersman's oar, headgear off and an eye not less than wild. "Row! Row!" he cried, but Airar sought forward to the forecastle cabin where Argyra might be. At its door they had just laid Os Erigu's Earl on the deck, with a vacant eye upraised to the sky; and now one leaped from a rowingbench where his oar-companion cursed him, to fling down prone, kissing Mikalegon's feet amid tears. It was the cupbearer of girlish form.

  "Oh, my lord, my love," he babbled, "forgive! forgive! I did not mean to destroy all, only the Black Tower, where you took that other. I could not bear to see it again. I did not—"

  Poe, bending over his captain, snarled, clipped the lad to the planks, then pointing to the castle with every window alight, spoke to Airar. "Hard it is," he said, "that all this and the heritage of freemen for generations should go down because of one nasty little traitor."

  It was the voice of Meliboe the enchanter that answered: "There is always a nasty little traitor. Only the heritage can live that is strong enough to bear the shock of all that such can do."

  "You, forward," boomed Erb's voice, "take oars there and just row."

  They rowed then, out into the dawn along a stormy, rocking sea. It came through oar-ports and over bulwarks to set them shivering at the benches; and now all fell on to wonder that the Vulkings had made no attack when the castle burned and occasion seemed so well to serve.

  32 Hrakra Mouth: Great Tidings

  THAT STHENOPHON had right in keeping his ships from voyaging among the storms of autumn was soon clear; the row-galley took water heavily and by noon was almost awash below, so dangerous that Erb put her poop to the wind, which brought the prow slanting in toward the coast of Norby. The gust held steadily from north-northwest, allowing them to hang out squaresails and give some rest to those at the oars. The Carrhoenes, who use such craft by habit, might have done better with this one, but of the hundred and seven men aboard there was only one Carrhoene, and he a sergeant's servant—the rest all Dalecarles of Airar's following or free companions, with some eight women, including Evadne, the shield-girl, the Star-Captain.

  She looked glum as could be in the morning light, with a line or two round her mouth that had not been there before, but Airar marvelled at how boldly she bore herself, and at the cheer of the greeting she shouted across the heaving water to those brothers, when they bore up their tall ships to inquire anxiously. His own heart turned and burned for converse with Argyra. But the first time he sought her, she was in a sleep he forbore to interrupt, and at the second, here was Aurea, the golden sister, all full of chattering— would he not, as leader, exact hard pains from the rash youth that set the fire? Did he not think it strange how one so bold as the Carrhoene maid should speak of love only at the sword's point? Did he believe she truly meant it, or was it said on a moment's spur to hide some other thought?— with a variety of other fantasies as tedious and little important as this, so that Airar had no chance for a word with his love, and at last in desperation cried: "But Carrhoene is part of the

  Empire!" and strode away, leaving her to think what that might mean, while he sought Mikalegon.

  The Earl sat on a winch at the bulwark, with his knuckles in his beard, staring. "What?" said Ai
rar. "Will you despair? I have lost a father's heritage myself, as have all these Carrhoenes, and none of us are dead of heartbreak yet—or as Doctor Meliboe says, hearts do not break."

  The big man only grunted without turning head but as he saw this did not make Airar go away, said slowly: "Aye, I have heard that tale. But what you lost was a piss-poor Vastmanstad farm, like another, where there on Erigu's cape the light and beacon of a naughty world went down— because I was not man enough to keep it high. Where's now that sanctuary for men who'd be free or the sleepy Empire, or of the Twelve Cities that will not let a man rise above his mother's bedroom, or of the Vulking rule where even lords are slaves? Aye, I had even a few from Dzik among my merry companions, who could not bear that a man should be forbid to eat mutton of a Tuesday. . . . All gone; dead, down and drownded, the heritage lost."

  "Do you think as much?" asked Airar, earnestly. "Lord, there is Doctor Meliboe, who can discuss these things very aptly, and better than I, but this much I know he would say, even though saying it be to stand with those Carrhoene: that your heritage and mine both are not in acres or stones but in birth and heart that we have from our fathers. How? Must you lead the free companions from Erigu's cape alone?"

  "Nay . . . nor from the Blue Sea, neither, where the ships that might have saved all are fled . . . They're lost, and the heritage . . . Free companions no more. Men will not act together but in fear of punishments. . . . The seaeagle's chicks are geese, and I'm an old man. Leave me now; you had done better to do as much last night."

  Airar did leave him then, seeing how little was to be made of such a mood, for he had sense enough to know that the most of Earl Mikalegon's gloom was not true. It was only a game of words they played together, and he'd no wish to see it carried from words to worse, as it had been on that evening in the forest when Luronne the deserion died. More—there were thoughts of his own to ponder, to wit: how was it that the rule of Os Erigu should fall? To him, watching waves slide from the galley's breast, it seemed not less than true as true what the enchanter had said—that every world coughs up its own traitors, the Baron of Deidei to Salmonessa's Duke; and to Dalarna, such as Britgalt, and aye, his own uncle Tholo, who drank Leonce Fabrizius' wine. Even these free companions that had run away, treasonable against themselves and their own freedom. But had the Vulkings no traitors in their ranks? Not any; their hard rule passed treasons by. No, had they after all the right of it? His mind repelled, and repelling, slid off to ask himself if he were traitor, too—in love, to Gython's memory. "Love is but once and forever," his mother had said before she died, but here was he, twice in the double cycle of the sun saying, "Now and always." . . . Ah—but now the thought slid back again to her in person, and naught else was dear but Argyra, and he would not go back from her for any people or demons or towns or towers. So thinking, he was roused by Erb's loud shout as the galley rounded in at an inlet of Norby province, where they dropped sail and anchor.