Feynard

by Marc Secchia

  “Looks more like he’s asleep on his hooves,” he said.

  “The good Unicorn has laboured all through the darktime–but he’s ahead of schedule. Only a turn or two now, and he’ll be able to focus it wherever he wants to.”

  “It’s a shame that we couldn’t use a portal to get here in the first place!”

  Alliathiune chuckled knowingly. “I caught myself thinking that too! But there is unfortunately no way to set up a portal without being here first–it needs power, masses of it, and a magician on both sides to set up the initial link. Trust me, Elliadora’s Well is really the only practical place from which to initiate such a connection. The distance you can portal to is extremely limited otherwise. We could think of no other way.”

  “Hmm. Did you hear from Elliadora last night?”

  “That’s darktime, as I’ve told you a thousand times, and I won’t even deign to answer if you don’t wipe that cynical smile off your face.”

  “Heavens, sorry. You needn’t be so touchy.”

  “Touchy? Who’s being touchy? You’re like a hedgehog with eczema!”

  “Like a what?” He burst out laughing. It only made her angrier.

  “Now I definitely won’t tell you! The art of Seeing is a subtle mystery, far too profound for a barbarian outlander like you.”

  Kevin scowled angrily. References to his otherworldly origins–recent as they were–made him feel like an outsider, dissimilar and superfluous. It reminded him of how much less capable he was than they, how he owed them his life, and how ignorant he often felt of the simple social conventions of travelling with companions, sharing food and conversation, and living life in a space greater than the four walls of his prison-like bedroom.

  A soft hand touched his arm. “Good Kevin,” she said, “I should not inflict you with my failings. I am over-fond of arguing, don’t you think?”

  That, and made irresistible by some curious feminine power, he thought, smiling like a Buddha. Kevin said, “You’re a good sort, Alliathiune. Compared to me, you’re a saint.”

  “What’s a saint? One of your Earth words?”

  He explained briefly that a saint was a holy man or woman, but as this did not satisfy her curiosity, it grew into a digression on Mother Teresa, from there to religion, and from there to a potted history of the church–as well as he knew it, from his scholarly viewpoint.

  The Dryad was intrigued. “How do you know so much,” she asked, “having spent so much time in one–house, was it you said?”

  “Pitterdown Manor is like a house with many rooms,” he replied. “It has a great Library, which was my favourite place in the house. Great mountains of books, stacked so high to the ceiling that often the servants had to climb ladders to retrieve books for me from the higher shelves. I spent many happy hours … turns, sorry, in the Library. You can imagine that with nothing else to occupy my time, reading became my great passion.”

  “So all your great learning comes from books?”

  His brilliant green eyes considered her at a length that made her squirm, but when he spoke it was with uncharacteristic honesty and humbleness. “That’s a very insightful question, Alliathiune. I don’t know how great it is. I used to pride myself on my knowledge until I came to Feynard. Here I realise I am but a babe in the ways of your world.”

  “Yet you have taken mighty strides, good Kevin,” she responded. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the most remarkable eyes?”

  “Ah … what? No, of course not!” Except for Alliathiune herself, he thought, in her strange Seeing of which she remembered nothing. The Seeing that might just have revealed she cared for him–or had a weird second personality lurking in her mind!

  “Yours are a wizard’s eyes. Mesmerising eyes.”

  “Oh, good grief!” He gave an exasperated sigh. “Not that ‘Mighty High Wizard’ muckity-muck again–”

  Her giggling stopped him in his tracks. “No, you silly man, I mean not to flatter you, but to make a serious point. And if I do indeed compliment you on your eyes, it is with good reason.” Her tiny hands waved that away as unimportant, even as high spots of colour blossomed on his pale cheeks. “A number of powerful wizards and witches plan to attend the Council of War. Watch them and see if what I say is not true–that each of them, in one way or another, has a remarkable or unusual pair of eyes. When they search for wizardly talent to swell the ranks, the eyes are a primary requirement. Mark my words, good Kevin, you have the eyes of a mighty wizard. That is why Zephyr courts you.”

  His ears were beginning to burn, which was a regular occurrence around Alliathiune. “I’m not being courted by anyone,” he protested weakly. “Did you get all your birds away alright?”

  “My birds? Oh, you mean the messages–yes. I had a Swift this morning in confirmation from the Dryads. The Queen herself may attend.”

  “That’s a swift reply.”

  “No, it’s a kind of bird, good Kevin.”

  “That’s what I meant!” he replied testily–partly because his carroty curls were not responding well to his efforts with the brush. He gritted his teeth. “It was a pun on ‘swift’. Good grief, old girl, I don’t know how you manage with that mop of yours! I’d swear I am about to pull every stubborn curl out by the roots before I get your brush through this mess.”

  A sharp smack and a tart retort about his ‘rat’s nest’ constituted her reply. “Although it’s curling nicely over your ears,” Alliathiune added sweetly, as if butter would not melt in her mouth. “I think I quite like it that way–and look, your ears are turning red, too. Here, allow me.”

  Back at Pitterdown Manor, Kevin had become used to having his hair brushed by the nurses when he was too unwell to fend for himself. Now, he thought, glowering back at Akê-Akê’s raised eyebrows and suggestive snigger from across the way, it made his throat go dry and his heart leap about like Alliathiune’s dancing yesterday. But after a couple of minutes in the pretty Dryad’s capable hands, he had to fight off an urge to start purring. No nurse had ever combed his hair so soothingly. No nurse of his had ever been younger than at least sixty! And, he supposed, Alliathiune was attractive in her peculiar way–as far as Dryads went, of course. It was the organic part of her nature that nauseated him.

  Kevin began to relax. Life could be worse!

  * * * *

  Once the Unicorn had completed the portal, he made certain delicate adjustments to extend it towards Thaharria-brin-Tomal, where a team of Unicorns waited to complete the connection. One moment Zephyr was sweating bullets to position it just so, and the next, two young Unicorns stepped through as though on a midsummer’s stroll in the Forest. Kevin’s mouth described a perfect ‘o’ of surprise. So much for his disbelief! He fell to furiously trying to describe the physics required for such a construct.

  Before he knew it, there were a dozen beautiful Unicorns milling about like ambulatory snowflakes on the meadow, making him squint to try and identify his friend amongst them. Many were the nickers of excitement and horn-touching greetings between them.

  “They congratulate him on his achievement,” rumbled Snatcher, having come up behind him so quietly that Kevin exclaimed crossly. “To the younger one-horns he is an adventurer, a mystic, and a Unicorn of legendary deeds. And yet the elder ones despise him on account of his honour debt, which Mylliandawn presses to her best advantage. You will see the politics and the reality later. Yes, and there she is now. Be gentle with good Zephyr.”

  “What debt, Snatcher?”

  “Perhaps I’ve said too much,” the Lurk admitted. “That story is one for Zephyr to tell of his own free will. It’s not my place to gossip.”

  “You can’t leave it like that!”

  “I must. Watch, now they look to the provisions.”

  Boxes and crates winged through the portal now. Working in teams of two or three, the younger Unicorns brought them under control with the telekinetic power of their horns and floated them to the ground. After these came barrels of food and trestles an
d tables and cutlery and another hundred items Kevin could not identify. A small mountain grew to one side of the portal, where a team of energetic Honeybears–where had they sprung from?–began to set up for what looked like a feast.

  “And now to the Dryads,” growled Snatcher, with a chopped-off parody of a laugh. “You’ll excuse me if I make myself scarce. Like our tame Faun, there are those coming who would not take kindly to the presence of a Lurk at a Council of War.”

  Kevin gazed at Snatcher’s departing back, troubled. He too would have preferred to fade into the background, but could think of no plausible excuse. Perhaps he ought to be sociable? Or maybe not! But it was already too late, for Alliathiune, in the company of a whole coterie of Dryads–like a troupe of little schoolgirls, he thought unkindly, all in their short dresses and barefoot–was heading in his direction. Not one was taller than five feet. Some of their number were casting him glances so bold his cheeks burned already. He tried to stand taller. A foolish urge prompted him to throw his chest out and strut like a peacock under such a weight of combined feminine scrutiny, which he suppressed with a kind of violent inner surprise. What was it about this blasted Forest that could throw him off balance in an instant?

  As the Dryads approached, Kevin’s gaze was drawn to the tallest and foremost of the group, one so fair and doll-like in her beauty that it took his breath away, and by the golden circlet upon her noble brow he knew her for the Dryad Queen. He thought he should bow upon one knee, and managed this feat without quite falling on his face.

  “We Dryads stand little on ceremony,” said she, in sweet and piping tones, extending cool hands to raise him from his awkward obeisance. “You must be the outlander whom Alliathiune summoned by her Seeing.” Several others tittered and shifted uneasily at this statement, but the Queen continued, “I bid you welcome on behalf of all Dryads, good outlander, to Driadorn and her great Forest, which is Mother to all. It is my wish that whatever strangeness or danger you may encounter here, within our leafy boroughs, shall be as a fleeting shower in the season of Budding before the swell of friendship that we offer and the gratitude we owe you for directing us to this defiling Blight’s source.” And she inclined her head graciously, as if such pretty speeches constituted her everyday dialogue. “You have accomplished much during your short sojourn among us.”

  “I, ah … I offer what poor service I can,” said he, still earnestly studying his feet. “Thank you for your kindness, your … ah … Your Majesty?”

  The Dryad Queen smiled as a chorus of giggles broke out behind her. “Your courtly form of address does fall quaintly upon our ears, good outlander, and shall set these maiden hearts behind me all a-flutter as surely as Indomalion does rise to cast his kindly eyes upon the glorious treetop-crowns of our beloved Forest. Walk with me now to yonder Grove, and tell us how you came to discern the source of the Blight.”

  So speaking, she made to link her arm with his, as he saw was customary amongst the Dryads between themselves–save for Alliathiune, to whom they unconsciously gave space as though she had some infectious disease or noxious body odour. His eyes lifted to meet the Queen’s just as she reached out her hand. He saw something akin to shock or panic flash across her face. She stumbled. It happened with bewildering speed. Kevin found the Dryad Queen’s slim torso clasped in his embrace, the Dryads were all shouting, and someone tried to scratch his eyes out for apparently assaulting the Queen. The X’gäthi came hurtling in with blades upraised to defend him, and there might have been bloodshed, save for Alliathiune’s quick thinking. With an eerie, ululating shriek she punched her fists at the sky. It was like the shriek of a hunting falcon, but louder and more piercing, slicing through flesh and bone with a razor’s ease. Everyone in the vicinity froze instantly, as though entombed in amber. Kevin could not move a muscle–he could barely even blink. It was the weirdest, most suffocating, most terrifying sensation he had ever experienced. He wanted to scream, but Alliathiune’s voice drew him back from the brink of panic.

  “Right,” she said sweetly, ducking beneath an X’gäthi blade. “This is all easily explained, so listen closely.” Her captive audience could do nought but! “Our dear Queen did but stumble against the outlander, who intended no affront against her person. Rather, he saved her from falling. Now, when I let you go in a moment, you will all cease this foolishness. The X’gäthi will fall back. Immothiune, please unclasp your fingers from the outlander’s neck and allow him to release the Queen. All you others, please refrain from screaming and generally making asses of yourselves. Is that understood?”

  Kevin had indeed discovered his air supply was being cut off. If Alliathiune did not release him soon, he would black out. The other discovery of note was that the sensation of holding the Dryad Queen in his arms was not disagreeable in the slightest. The scent of wildflowers in her hair and the slight, warm trembling of her body against his was doing something quite inexplicable to his sense of balance. And abruptly, the pressure vanished and he could breathe, release the Queen, re-gather his composure and brush his clothing straight with energetic, furiously embarrassed smacks of his hands. Blades were lowered and the Dryads moved back uneasily. Several of their number remonstrated with Alliathiune, who looked unhappy but defiant.

  The Queen took Kevin’s arm with a smile. “May I? Second time lucky, they say.”

  “Of course.”

  But the incident left him with a sour aftertaste of foreboding. Was it an ill echo from Alliathiune’s display of power? What had the Dryad Queen seen in his eyes that should cause her to stumble so–if not those alleged ‘wizard’s eyes’ that Alliathiune had described? Was the Council in danger? Kevin did not trust his feelings as a rule, and so he laughed it off as a silly fancy and tried to concentrate on his conversation with the Queen. She, far from being flustered, had completely regained her poise and reserve. He tried very hard not to remember what she had felt like in his arms–or how Alliathiune might feel–he shot her a guilty glance.

  But Alliathiune avoided his gaze, and pointedly found something else to occupy her attention. Kevin gulped. Evidently, the fate of the Forest was not the only matter at stake!

  Chapter 14: The Council of War

  “Come, dance with us!” cried the Dryads, catching Kevin’s hand as they skipped past, whirling him out of a daydream.

  Kevin, now deep into his third flagon of a wickedly potable berry wine, was more than willing to comply. In fact, an enormous confidence possessed him and any lingering inhibitions had deserted him nearly an hour before. He was tipsy, garrulous, and having a very good time.

  In the absence of the more senior creatures of the different races, who had spent all afternoon within a towering pavilion locked in discussion–sustained, often heated, and not always helpful discussion–their aides and advisors and helpers, having been unable to wrangle a place within the Council, had opted to start the party early instead. Kevin had entered the pavilion to deliver his initial report, but when the arguments broke out, Alliathiune had kindly taken his elbow and shown him to the tent flap. ‘It’ll go on for ages,’ she had whispered, ‘and no doubt get nasty. I know how you feel about arguments.’ He, surprised at her sensitivity, had readily acquiesced. He had done his part, anyhow–leave the politics to those with a yen for it!

  But it left him at something of a loose end. Both Snatcher and Akê-Akê had vanished to goodness knows where, and he had been about to join them, when he was accosted by a group of russet-furred Gerbils and whipped over to the ‘bar’ for a drink. This turned out to be a euphemism for an interrogation, which started with how flabbergasted they were at the colour of his hair and proceeded swimmingly from there on until Zephyr unexpectedly appeared to rescue him. However, the Unicorn soon returned to the fray within the pavilion. Kevin was left to swap stories with several junior Unicorns. His second flagon of wine had lubricated and embellished his tale of their journey to Elliadora’s Well, which the young Unicorns lapped up.

  Now, he thought giddily, he was having
the time of his life. Every Dryad in sight wanted to flirt with him. He possessed boundless energy and optimism, and was becoming quite dizzy with the dancing and girlish laughter and wine swirling about in his brain. He quaffed the flagon and tossed it over his shoulder. The tempo of the music, though alien to him, made his feet twitch uncontrollably.

  “Faster!” cried the girls, tugging him on.

  Kevin shouted with laughter and danced the harder, chasing after the playful Dryads with all his might.

  Later, having danced like a dervish for what felt like hours, Kevin found himself near the food, and having secured a platter of something vaguely edible along with his fourth flagon of wine, found himself a seat on one of the long benches and tucked in hungrily. By gum, he could eat a horse! Driadorn must be great, if he felt like this all the time! He had never missed Pitterdown Manor less.

  “Good food, outlander?”

  Kevin looked up over a mouthful of grilled vegetables. “S’good,” he muttered, slurring the words. He saw a Human, the first he had encountered in this accursed Forest.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Sure.”

  The man swung his long legs over the bench and settled down. Suddenly, he espied someone he knew. “Ho, Braddock! Over here!” Braddock, it turned out, was a Wolverine as wide as he was tall. He had muscles on top of muscles. He took up a great deal of room on the bench.

  “Who’d you find, Snake?”

  “A Human, by the looks of him. What’s your name, outlander?”