Well of the Unicorn

by Fletcher Pratt

  "What would that be, sir? "

  "My lord, you need call me sir no longer. But it is commerce with those who serve Briella, in thought and deed."

  Airar of Trangsted rose slow to his feet. "You mean my father? You would have me condemn my father?"

  Sir Ludomir also stood; for all the younger man's inches, the knight was half an inch the taller. "My lord duke, who spoke of condemnations? Not I. Yet to those we ask for faith, we must give no cause to doubt our faith with them. There are such places where he could be held secure—the Isles of Gentebbi, certain armed steads of Skogalang—"

  "My father!"

  "Think on it well, my lord. A new day often brings sound counsel."

  He bowed and left Airar with pictures of his own dear love and of a glorious future flashing behind his eyes— and must he give it all up for a Vulking Ally? Would Dalarna fall if he did? "All hangs on it," Sir Ludomir had said, a man that knew much. Must he give all up?—yet where was faith if he himself kept not the old faith? . . . "This way, son"—the glad shout with which a weasel of the mountains was brought home to make for a small boy a cap—his mother's laughter and how they sang together, stave and stave. The first lesson in magic—the stars over Vastmanstad on a winter night—"There rides the club-armed horseman, and see, son, how the unicorn will lift his horn to a point of light."

  37 Naaros: Wedding Day

  YET THE NIGHT'S EXCITEMENT was ridden down by the events of another day when, as Airar lay late, less asleep than in a daze of wonder how he might square the circle of his life, there came a shout without and he went abroad to find a new ship coming up the stream. By form she was of the Twelve Cities, but commercial rather than warlike, with high sides. She bore a standard no one knew, of a green bush burning, and it was a herald that stepped ashore, with a tabard and a trumpeter, crying that he would be taken before the Baron of Naaros.

  "Then you must put about and sail for Lectis Minima," quoth Rogai-of-the-mountains, who had brought some of his archers to the pier for a guard, "for that is where he was bound when last heard on."

  "His Vicount, then."

  "You will find him at citadel, but I will not accompany you there, since it is unfriendly to this town."

  It was a little man, with a peering expression of face, who jerked his head quick and suspicious from side to side, his nose wrinkling as though to sniff truth. "Where's your leader, then? I bear a message from the Twelve Cities."

  Airar came forward. "Here."

  "Blow, music! ... I am bidden to Naaros by their highnesses, the six spadarions of Permandos, to announce to your baron and leader, whoever he may be, that the Count Vulk of Dalarna having given harborage and aid to that most foul tyrant and traitor, Sthenophon of no title, with certain other leaders of the People's Party of Permandos, Carrhoene, and Xiphon, these cities do bid him defiance, and will wage inextinguishable war on him, with the blockade of his ports, till the said Sthenophon be returned to us for just punishment and you,

  I do defy." He paled in attent of a blow, but bravely enough jerked the iron glove from his girdle and would have cast it down. But before this could be done, he was surrounded and almost smothered with loud shouts and huzzas till Evimenes hacked clear a space around him and snatched off his own headgear.

  "Do you know me?" he cried.

  "Aye." The herald smiled a toothless smile. "That is, lord, I know your family, but which one you be, no."

  Drink was brought for all and the herald taken to the house of the town, where he and the master mariner that brought him told their tale: that, Sthenophon returning not, there had been at Permandos words against his rude rule. Words changed to blows; the sole spadarion's people had the worst of that bout, and were overrun, and the party of the Guilds set in office. Tidings of this spreading fast to Carrhoene, she too had risen against her People's Party, upon whom lay many heavy complaints, as crushing taxes, and that while excluded from the Empire by absence of delegates, her people might not trade in Stassian cities, nor go to the perfect peace of the Unicorn's Well. The profitable wool ships came not from Dalarna, which was taken to mean turbulence in that northern land where Sthenophon was; and not unlikely he was worsted in some broil. When a word was whispered that Vulk was out of the Empire's protection, it was war; a defiance to Vulk.

  When the tale was all told, Evimenes took up the word most joyously: "Master Airar, this is all that was to be looked for of the best. Permandos and Carrhoene! Now we can bring to you not less than twelve hundreds of heavyarmed riders—more, have we the time to summon them, but these at once. Will you but say the word?"

  Airar felt a surge, as on that night when he had made the sudden plan for the ambush of the deese near Crow's Tower, and in that rush of pleasure knew that he had feared the outcome of battle against the invincible terciaries, but now no longer—not with the heavy horsemen of the Twelve Cities. The plan!—in a moment, but all complete: reverse against the Vulkings the order of battle they knew. Yet while word was no more than a sound before word, Sir Ludomir Ludomirson spoke: "At what price?"

  The dark Star-Captain pouted: "What would you? We are allies, and will not haggle, but the men must be paid. For each moon, a golden aura for each rider, half for those who follow afoot, and for us leaders half as much as the others together, with plunder-rights in field and camp and city. A lordship in the Isles of Gentebbi, which we will restore and hold of you."

  "It is a great sum," said black Gallil, lowering on them darkly. "More than was asked of M'ariola," Rogai said.

  Evimenes curled a lip and answered only the last speaker. "In Mariupol's service we were outlaws, vagabonds, with little to give beyond leadership, but now we are captains that can bring you what you most need. Pah! Do you think your bastardly Dalecarle peasants will stand before these men of war without a seasoning of trained soldier? Your duke Airar knows better, ir no other; I have seen him frowning at the exercises. Nor is it so great a price as we asked at Poliolis, nor to the King of Gesebus in Uravedu for setting him on his throne again."

  Dead silence for a moment. Gallil persisted: "A great price; would leave us a half-ruined land. The syndics will have it never; you'll drive them to Vulk."

  Rogai slapped the table. "The price of freedom and victory is high forever; but there is one thing in this treaty I cannot stomach. How are we to stand for freedom from foreign lordships and yet make a new one? Will you not abate this condition?"

  "Nay," said Evimenes. "We have been wanderers too long; need a secure refuge against other turnovers among our cities. For money we might make conditions; on this, never."

  Airar could see faces fall, and his own, too, for he was one with Rogai, that Gentebbi should not fall away from Dalarna; but Sir Ludomir said: "Gentle sirs of Carrhoene, what if instead of Gentebbi I offer you a lordship fairer than any you have dreamed upon, in quit-claim for all your aid? One that will make Dalarna and Carrhoene friends forever."

  "Name it," said Evimenes.

  "Sirs, I will do no less." He drew forth the parchment he would have shown to Airar and tossed it crackling on the table. "I am herein named regent and guardian for the • children of the Empire, now in this city, and it seems to me good to gather the new swords of Carrhoene round the old sword of Argemenes. What say you to an alliance Imperial in marriage? The Princess Aurea, her graciousness."

  Pleiander wetted lips and looked at his brothers. Said Alsander simply, but with force: "Not for a dozen coronets; she talks too much." It might be Mikalegon who laughed; Evimenes was silent a long moment, and then: "Not her, but if the younger sister—" whereat Airar cried sharply. "No!"

  "Your grace, lord," said Sir Ludomir. "Sirs, the Princess Argyra weds our lord and leader, Duke Airar, master of the soldiers of Dalarna, and this may not be altered. Is it then your last word, that our most generous offer's refused? I warn you fairly we are Dalecarles and sons of the Empire, who at the last breach will make cause with even Vulk if need be, to keep foreign lordships from our land."

  "M
ake it, then," said Evimenes, looked past him, and turned to the other three of Carrhoene. "Brothers, let us by no means continue this profitless discussion, but go aboard that ship of Permandos at the quay and return to our own land."

  Alsander and Pleiander half rose with him, faces hot, but—"Brothers," said Evadne of Carrhoene, "you have wrong."

  They checked.

  "You have wrong. There's an hour when you drive too high a bargain and the merchandise rots. What! Have you forgotten in your heat our brother Alcides, for whom we owe a vengeance? What! Shall we wander forever and win battles to no other end than payments spent on a tavern trot? Nay, brothers, if you love your marriage freedoms so much, I'll sell mine for all. Sir knight and regent, do you have in your regency the marriage of the prince as well?"

  Sir Ludomir frowned and reached his parchment. "The children Imperial, madame, which I take to mean aye to your asking."

  "Then I say here before you all that I sue for the hand of Prince Aurareus of the Empire; and the dowry I bring alone, without my brothers, is that of a spadarion of Carrhoene; but I think that they will be with me in this, and give a quitclaim for all aids to the utmost power of our city; saving plunder-rights only, which we will not lay down."

  The Star-Captains all three goggled, but first Alsander and then the others nodded. Mikalegon the Earl brought his fist down with a boom. "Half a man and a woman and a half! It should make a brave match!" Then there was long chatter, and a writer to draw papers, with a messenger to dispatch the ship back to Carrhoene instanter, under the Star-Captains' authority for troops; but as they left the place some little later, Evadne worked her way to Airar to say:

  "Lord and love lost, this is my reparation for injury and my last service to you-ward. Be happy; think well of me."

  He would have kissed her, but she slipped his grasp like smoke, with tears shining under eyelids, and then he would have gone to Argyra, but Sir Ludomir said nay. Time pressed a hasty wedding for the very tomorrow, and in Dalarna as in Dzik it is the custom that a groom shall not see his bride on the day before their union. There were small matters to handle and a bent man from the tailors' guild came in, with two assistants, one slew-eyed, the other drooling, to measure Trangsted's son for wedding garments. While they did so, here was a messenger from the north to say that all word from Stavorna was cut, so the Count Vulk would be moving at last. Airar fidgeted; the bent tailor skipped about the room, while in the street below a disorderly tramp of hooves told that a new contingent of Hestinga horsemen was come. "What shall we do with the band of Mariolan exiles that came with Vardo? They will not serve under Carrhoene, holding it the StarCaptains' fault for the failure at Marskhaun causeway, yet they are good men with horse and lance."

  The climax of a bad nervous day came after evening meat, and the beginning of it was that Airar flat refused an offer of Oddel and Rogai to be merry with them through the last night of his bachelorhood; saw their faces fall, and heard a murmur of something on those who overreach their origins. Now, as he mused on how little of his own life glory seemed to leave him, here was another delegation of syndics—the same negotiator as before, but with new companions. They would know whether Airar had thought on their previous visitation, and the result?

  In a gust of anger and weariness beyond assoil, he answered that aye, he had thought; but to make peace now would be treason to those who had chose him their leader for war—and to the Empire, whose standard he would bear. Had they not (he asked) told through the town that he was ready to sell all to the friends of Vulk?

  The wool-syndic slipped the accusation and asked whether peace were so dreadful a thing, then? which he held most men to desire, the Well for witness. "As to the Imperial standard, trust not in it for long. The old Emperor is doddering and will follow tomorrow the advice he gets tomorrow. Look how our Count was his daughter's expectant but now."

  In the midst of this chess-game without issue, in came Sir Ludomir, who made snap-eyes at the syndic-men till they left, saying they'd speak on the matter further.

  Airar: "No sir, you will not; not to me."

  The negociant smiled his glabrous smile. As soon as he had gone the old knight once more gave cold warning that such things could not be, Airar must say at no late date where lay his loyalty, and hold to that, outward and in. "Intrigue, my lord, is a leader's privilege and play, but he must play it through the hands of his servants."

  Now there was another clash of wills, to no real end, like the former, but with the adviser of princes at last departing on the note that he would charge himself with proof that Airar meant no treason to the cause in holding by his relatives. The groom prospective, unhappy over his prewedding day, lay down to wait for the crack of dawn, tingling through every muscle, and full expecting it to be a night sleepless but for jerks; so swung his thought to the loveliness and graciousness of Argyra, whom even to imagine possessing was delight. But as soon as his head touched pillow, he slipped into another world, and knew it would be one of those nights of dream that always seemed to presage some change in his condition.

  Wild riders were in that dream and a golden crown to gain; the cold winter stars, with the constellation of the unicorn rising. He sought to reach it, but that hideous worm he had seen long since in the cot of the magician Meliboe gnawed at his wings, so he fell tumbling down a long slant till there were calms and white arms around him—"Is this death?"—then all in his dream and knowing he was dreaming, made to himself a song:

  Into the night I go, when the moon jades,

  To watch the north lights shiver up, like ghosts

  Of flames in cities sacked by shades,

  And see beyond, the powerless burning hosts—

  but was still trying to reconcile the rhyme when Poe the Witless touched him behind the ear to waken without sound, a rushlight in his hand. The air beyond the window was steel-blue with coming day.

  "What tidings, friend?" asked Airar.

  "I fear that all's not well. In the night, stampings and mewings, with cries and blue lights from where you set the guard over the two old Vulking Allies, your kinsmen."

  Airar was on his feet at once. "We will go."

  The streets were silent all, so that a nocturnal cat with her tail aloft was a spectacle and a man drunk in a doorway was a landmark. Poe's voice whispered; the man by the door-pillars of the little stone house at the jewel market clutched his spear with white knuckles. By gods and gryphons he swore that none or nothing had gone in this only door; but an hour since, he and his mate heard the sound of heavy tramping above, with witch-lights and cries. The floor at the ground had been used by a shop and was now vacant; Airar went up the stairs at once, but the door at the top was barred within. He would have hurled his shoulder on it when none answered his knock, but Poe said: "My lord duke, this is very stout oak; but permit me"—and, drawing a short-sword, began hacking at the panel with skillful strokes that left long curling chips on the flagstone floor. The noise woke an inquisitive head in the building across' the way, then others, who talked till someone decided to bawl for the watch.

  The man who had been door-guard went below to quiet them, and was known for the sea-eagle badge on his halfhelm as a free companion of Os Erigu. The gathering people began to chatter and howl that some had come to lay the traitors by the heels and hang them up, so Airar heard cries of "Rope, rope!" and "Build a fire!" The hole was as yet but a couple of inches, and a dreadful sense of urgency ran through him, but now he must halt the hacking, go to the lower door, doff cap and be cheered for himself, while Witless Poe was sent for an archer-guard and axes. Someone heard him say the order and, before Poe could return, here was an axe and a heavy man to wield it, who heaved a few times till the door-panel splintered and one could get an arm in to throw down the bar.

  The door half-opened, half-fell. As soon as Airar stumbled into the apartment, with a press of the curious behind him, he was ware of Meliboe the wizard's work: not only an odor of death in the place, but another so ghastly that the s
trong, stupid door-chopper turned round and vomited down the frame, with the feel of magic crowding heavy enough to make the eyes start from the head.

  "Stand back!" said Airar. "More than your lives are on it." And dared not himself go deeper in till he had asked and received a pouch of corn with which to draw a pentacle and raise from within it the weightiest dismissal spell he knew. The doel-shiver came upon him, and the faces crowding round the head of the stair relaxed into more human semblance, then vanished as Poe and his archers arrived, too late.

  Beyond the little outer room was another, the swing-window to which stood a trifle ajar. Over its sill and across the stone floor lay a long trail of green, evil-smelling slime, dirty hook-marks along either side, leading toward the bedchamber, and Airar knew why he had dreamed of the green-worm yammering in its cage. It was as fear told him: inside the bed-chamber lay the father that had generated him and been his friend, beard toward the ceiling, still, shrunken, bloodless as though carved in ivory, with beyond him Uncle Tholo, face down and the back of his neck torn out by a wound that was all pale flesh and no red whatever.

  Airar gave a cry and flung himself down; was still there, he did not know how long later, when bells in streets and churches began to ring, and men came to say it was his wedding day, it was time to be dressed. Staggering, he was supported down the stairs into a street that babbled and took off caps, its clamor for hanging now forgot in the presence of death and true sorrow. Farther along the way, where the news had not yet spread, the tone changed, headgear was being tossed up, with shouts for Dalarna's leader and champion and a happy bridal.

  Sir Ludomir was waiting, with Rogai and Mikalegon, who were to stand his guardians of the occasion. "My father's dead!" cried Airar; between dolor and the weakness-backlash of his heavy spell, the knees went from under him, he was down on a tapestried rest-bench, with sobs so it was hard to catch breath. Sir Ludomir, the old knight, touched on his shoulder with kind, courtly words of comfort, but they did not ease the smart, nor did the thought that whirled fantastically past, that there was only one whose words could have been of use, and that one was Meliboe the enchanter, Meliboe the philosopher, who had done this all. He felt as though there were nots in his brain-pan, but this at last relieved him of the passion of his weeping.