By the time the noise—and the smell of ham and griddlecakes—woke him, the other three had already finished their breakfasts, and Tiercel was threatening to throw the rest of the food away.
“I should reconsider such a rash and hasty action, were I you, Tiercel. The Portmaster’s son has a fearsome temper, and is quick to anger, especially when he is hungry,” Ancaladar said mildly.
Tiercel glanced from Ancaladar to Harrier in surprise.
“Is something going on that I should know about?” he asked slowly.
“No,” Harrier and Ancaladar said in unison.
AFTER breakfast, Elunyerin and Rilphanifel at last took their leave.
“I think they’re glad to get rid of us,” Harrier said, watching the Elves ride away.
“The Elves have always understood Men as little as Men have understood Elves,” Ancaladar said. “You have both been a great trial to them, and they are relieved to have discharged the obligations of both duty and hospitality.”
“Well, me too,” Harrier said. “At least now I don’t have to go around watching every word that comes out of my mouth and figuring out how not to ask questions all the time.”
Tiercel laughed. “You got pretty good at it, though,” he said.
“Elunyerin kept hitting me. Only when Rilphanifel couldn’t see her, though,” Harrier grumbled. He rubbed his arm in memory.
Tiercel looked from Ancaladar to Harrier. “I was sort of worrying about when they’d leave. I’m glad the two of you . . .”
“I have always known that I would need to seek Harrier’s aid in causing you to behave properly, Tiercel. He has told me many disquieting stories of your childhood,” Ancaladar said reprovingly.
“We talked all night,” Harrier said, smirking.
“Oh, I . . . Blessed Saint Idalia and the Great Flowering,” Tier-cel groaned.
“Yeah,” Harrier said. “Maybe now that you’ve got a dragon to watch your back you’ll stop pulling quite so many dumb stunts.”
“And to aid you in this endeavor, I believe we might take this opportunity to once more practice the simpler wards and shields. You must not only be able to cast them, Tiercel, but to build them into cantrips, which requires a focus that you yet lack. Only when you have mastered these spells will it be safe to proceed with those which you may need later.”
Tiercel looked at Ancaladar and sighed. “I’ll go get my wand.”
“And your sword,” Ancaladar said helpfully.
Tiercel trudged off to the wagon.
“You really do enjoy bullying him, don’t you?” Harrier said, once Tiercel was out of earshot.
Ancaladar blinked slowly. “Not so much as he may imagine. But a High Mage is different from an Elven Mage. Were he to attempt spells of storm and lightning now—or even to invoke the Elemental Powers—he would suffer greatly. He must begin with those spells that will protect all of us, should protection be needed.”
“It takes years to train a High Mage,” Harrier said, because that was something that Tiercel had told him.
“Our Bond speeds many things, Harrier. Perhaps it will be enough,” Ancaladar answered.
AFTER Tiercel and Ancaladar had left for their practice, Harrier put the camp to rights, packing up their gear and stowing it in the wagon, and getting out the harness that he’d need to use later. For the first time, as he had watched his friends—both his friends, he realized—walk off to the copse of trees where they’d practiced last night, he hadn’t felt a sick pang of jealousy at seeing them go off together. And he realized that he was looking forward to this evening, when he could try to have a conversation with Tiercel about what he was learning, and talk to Ancaladar about—well, lots of things. He knew he wouldn’t understand any of the High Magick talk, but it might help Tiercel to talk about it.
Getting everything ready didn’t take very long, and he knew the two of them would probably be practicing for at least a bell, maybe longer. The day was already getting warm, so he decided to go back down to the stream and maybe get in a swim while he was waiting. It was deep enough for that, and didn’t seem to contain any of the Otherfolk that filled the Elven Lands. Brownies, Fauns, and Centaurs were one thing—he’d grown up with those—but every time he ran into something strange here, he was never sure whether it could talk or not. Tiercel was the one who knew about Otherfolk, but Harrier was the one who kept seeing them. It wasn’t fair.
HE got down to the edge of the stream—Rilphanifel and Elunyerin always made camp by water if at all possible, and with thirsty horses and a thirsty dragon to tend, it made sense—and walked along it until he found the nice deep slow-running spot where he’d bathed last night. The morning sun was filtering down through the trees, and there were a few birds calling to each other in the distance, and everything was quiet and peaceful. He peered down into the water suspiciously, but nothing outlandish stared back.
He’d pulled off his tunic, and was just about to sit down to remove his boots, when a voice stopped him.
“Well thank goodness. I thought those two would never leave. Elves. Always poking in where they’re not wanted. They can be really annoying sometimes, don’t you think?”
Harrier yelped and dove for his shirt. He clutched it, staring around himself, but all he saw was forest.
Just my luck. Now I run into one of the things that’s invisible.
“Er, what?” he said at last.
There was a flicker in the forest on the other side of the stream, as if the sunlight had suddenly gotten brighter, and something stepped through the trees.
It was a unicorn.
Her coat was the pale gold of morning sunlight, except for the white blaze down the center of her face. Her short brushy mane was white as well, as was the lionlike tuft at the end of her tail, and she had four white socks. Her nose was pink, and so were her cloven hooves.
He’d thought all unicorns were white.
As she stepped closer, a shaft of sunlight struck her horn. He’d thought it was just white—it was in the middle of the white blaze in her forehead, after all—but as the light struck it, it flared with color like the inside of a seashell: rose and gold and even blue.
Her eyes were blue, framed by long dark lashes.
Harrier had been startled by many of the things he’d seen in the Elven Lands—the dryads, the selkies. He’d been overawed and impressed by the sheer majesty of the dragons.
Nothing in his life had prepared him for the heart-stopping beauty of a unicorn. She was as fragile, as delicate, as beautiful as a flower. She was grace personified. She was . . .
“I’ve been following you ever since you left Karahelanderialigor, waiting for a chance to get you alone.”
“You’re a unicorn,” Harrier said.
The unicorn snorted with gentle laughter, tossing her beautiful head. “I’ve been one all my life. Are you always so obvious? I suppose you’ve been a human all your life, too.”
“Well, yes.” Harrier felt a sudden need to apologize for that. For being here at all, even. “You see, I—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that now. I’ve brought you a present. It’s in the bag around my neck. Come closer. I won’t bite,” the unicorn said coaxingly.
Only then did Harrier realize that yes, the unicorn did have a bag around her neck. It was more of a small satchel, really, made of red leather and closed with a buckle. The strap around her neck closed with a buckle, too, and in an instant he felt angry. Who could possibly have dared to insult such a wonderful creature by putting a collar on her as if she were a beast of burden?
Without thinking, he walked toward her—only realizing when it was far too late to do anything about it that he’d walked right into the middle of the deepest part of the stream, boots and all.
The unicorn threw back her head and brayed with laughter. Harrier slipped and floundered on the muddy bottom of the stream, sliding completely beneath the water. He lost the hold he had on his tunic. When he surfaced again, he saw it floating downstream,
well out of reach.
The unicorn was on her knees, sobbing with laughter. She was shaking her head back and forth. Her tail lashed.
“Oh!” she wailed. “Humans! I had forgotten how funny you all were!” She rolled on her side, kicking out weakly, helpless with mirth.
Harrier stomped his way to the unicorn’s side of the stream.
Fragile? Delicate? Beautiful?
He wondered how you went about strangling a unicorn.
“You did that on purpose,” he said, standing over her.
She looked up at him soulfully, her sides still heaving.
“Only a little,” she said. “There was a log right there. You could have used that, you know.”
“And you knew perfectly well I wouldn’t,” Harrier said. At least he had dry clothes back in the wagon.
The unicorn rolled over and got to her feet, shaking to remove the dirt of the forest floor. Harrier resisted the urge to brush her clean. He didn’t think he trusted her.
Standing, they were almost of a height. And her eyes were very blue.
“Don’t you want your present?” she asked. Her voice was soft and coaxing, as if she were sorry for the nasty trick she’d just played on him, but Harrier could see the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. He wasn’t sure he wanted any presents from her.
“Probably not,” he said firmly. “Every time people give me presents, it just makes trouble.” He thought of his Naming Day party, and the gift from his Uncle Alfrin that had actually started all this. “Especially if it’s books. Someone gave me a book as a present once.”
“Then you’ll know exactly what to do with these. Come on. Don’t be shy. You’ll hurt my feelings.”
“Why am I worried about that?” Harrier demanded. Even though the day was warm, his clammy leggings weren’t that comfortable, and his boots were probably ruined. There was also the matter of the lost tunic.
“Because you’re much nicer than you want anyone to think. Because it’s a present. And because I’m tired of wearing this collar around my neck. I can’t exactly hand it to you, you know.”
Harrier hadn’t actually thought of that. He reached out cautiously. The fur of the unicorn’s neck was cool and soft under his fingers. It felt like the softest down imaginable. He got his fingers under the strap and lifted. She lowered her head so he could pull it free.
“Hey!” Harrier said irritably. “Watch the horn!”
“You’re very irritable, aren’t you?” the unicorn asked pertly.
“I’m very wet,” Harrier said. He wiggled his toes. His boots squished.
“Now open it,” the unicorn said.
“I ought to just throw it in the stream,” Harrier grumbled.
If unicorns could smirk, he would have sworn she did.
“Oh, you could. But really, it wouldn’t change anything. If I say I’m sorry for making you walk into the stream—I’m really not, and you did look funny—will you open the pouch? Leaf and star, I’m a unicorn! A creature of the Light! You’re supposed to trust me!”
“Hmph,” Harrier said. He had to admit that she did have a point, though. She might have a horrible sense of humor, but she couldn’t possibly be evil.
He unbuckled the pouch.
Inside it were three small slim books.
“It is books,” he said with a groan. “These aren’t for me. You’re looking for Tiercel.”
“I think I know exactly who I’m looking for and who I’m not looking for,” the unicorn snapped, switching her tail in irritation. “Why don’t you look at them before making up your mind?”
Grumbling to himself, Harrier pulled out the books. At least they were small; three little books bound in red leather, with some sort of gold decoration on the spine that he didn’t examine too closely. There was no title on any of the covers. Probably can’t cause too much trouble, he thought to himself. He flipped through them quickly. They were all handwritten, and the writing was very small. He closed them again and prepared to stuff them back into their carrying case.
“Why don’t you look at the title pages?” the unicorn said, sounding exasperated now. With a sigh, Harrier pulled out a book and leafed through it to the title page.
The Book of Stars.
With a terrible sinking feeling, he quickly checked the title pages of the other two books.
The Book of Moon.
The Book of Sun.
Harrier stared at them for a long moment.
These were the Three Books of the Wild Magic. The Three Books that came—mysteriously, unbidden—into the hands of every person fated to become a Wildmage. Once given, it was possible to renounce them—supposedly—but never to lose them.
“You cannot possibly be serious,” he said weakly.
“Why would I want to be serious about something that’s just changed your whole life?” the unicorn said, stamping her foot. “And don’t even suggest that these would be better off in Tiercel’s hands. No, Tiercel has other things to do with his life. You, on the other hand, get to protect him. And guess what that makes you?”
“Stupid?” Harrier suggested. “Suicidal?”
“A Knight-Mage!” the unicorn cried cheerfully. “First one born since Kellen Tavadon! See? You don’t even have to guess—I’m just going to tell you, and now you can stop being all grumpy and we can be friends. So you don’t have to worry too much about casting spells, because you’ll never really be very good at it. But you probably should have paid more attention when those silly Elves wanted to give you sword lessons. Oh, well. Too late now. Just read your Three Books and hope for the best. Let’s go tell Tiercel and Ancaladar! Oh! And my name is Kareta! I almost forgot to tell you!”
Kareta tossed her head, reared up on her hind legs, and crossed the stream in one fluid bound.
Harrier stared after her clutching the Three Books.
His Three Books.
“Hey!” he shouted after her. “What if I don’t want to be a Knight-Mage?”
“You should have thought of that back in Armethalieh!” Kareta called back over her shoulder.
Harrier stared down at the books in his hand for a moment longer before stuffing them back into the bag. He slung it over his shoulder, then walked to the log and began to cross, slowly and carefully. As he reached the other side, a sudden thought struck him.
The Wild Magic never sent gifts without need. If it had just decided to turn him into the first Knight-Mage born since the time of Kellen the Poor Orphan Boy, then things weren’t just bad . . .
They were really bad.
The Enduring Flame Trilogy 001 - The Phoenix Unchained Page 37
