Lord of Legends

by Susan Krinard

Helplessness was not an emotion he’d often felt in his life. Pamela had unmanned him, and now Nuala was doing the same. As for Ash, he’d done nothing but hurt Mariah, betraying her just as surely as Pamela had betrayed him.

  And he could do nothing. Nothing.

  Nuala appeared beside him, her arms wrapped around her chest as if she were chilled. “You may still help Mariah,” she said, as if she had heard his thoughts. “She should not be alone when she travels to London, but I cannot go with her.”

  Sinjin stared at her, despising her for using him just as Pamela had done.

  “Why?” he demanded. “I thought you were her mystical guardian.”

  “There is more I may yet do here.”

  “Aren’t you losing your magic?”

  “I…” She avoided his gaze.

  “You’re going to stop my brother.”

  “I will try.”

  “Isn’t my brother in danger himself? That creature has powers, too, doesn’t he? He could kill Donnington.”

  “I doubt that is possible,” Nola said softly. “A unicorn’s horn has the power to heal, and no doubt it may kill, but no unicorn has ever used it for that purpose.” She grasped Sinjin’s arm with a strength that startled him. “Donnington has iron bullets, and iron has the power to destroy any inhabitant of Tir-na-Nog. Would you see your brother become a murderer?”

  “What will you do? Wave your hands and make Donnington fall off his horse?”

  Her expression turned suddenly hard. “If necessary.”

  Sinjin clenched his fists. He wondered if he ought to defend his brother against this woman with her unknown powers. But Giles had done much wrong. He had to be stopped, and Mariah had to be protected. She was the one most in need of it.

  He stepped back, putting more distance between himself and Nuala. “I don’t know who you are,” he said, “and you refuse to tell me. I wouldn’t trust you to look after Mariah in any case.” He glanced away from her sad and weary face. “I’ll take care of her. I don’t need the help of a witch.”

  She closed her eyes. “I wish things could have been different.”

  “So do I.” Without a word, he took his horse’s reins and strode toward the Gate.

  “Mariah!”

  There was no answer. He glanced among the trees surrounding the ancient pile of stones.

  “Mariah! Damn it—”

  “She’s gone,” Nola said, her voice tight with distress. “She’s gone through the Gate.”

  “And you couldn’t stop her?”

  “I didn’t see. I am sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Sinjin strode to the fallen arch and pushed against the stones in a cold fury. “For God’s sake, why? Why did she go?”

  “To keep her bargain with Cairbre. She doesn’t believe that Arion can defeat the Fane. She’ll try to beg for Arion’s life.”

  “She’d risk so much after what he did to her?”

  “Love is not a rational emotion, Mr. Ware. As you well know.”

  He flinched, feeling the knife twist inside his chest. “Do you have another command for me, madam?”

  “I must do whatever I can to help Mariah, however little that may be. You must ride after Donnington.” She laid a fine-boned hand on his shoulder. “If you care for Mariah, you will not let Arion die. Do your best to stop the earl until…”

  “Until what?”

  “I do not know. We can but try to do good when we can.”

  Sinjin met her gray-eyed gaze. She appeared so harmless, yet she scared him in a way he didn’t understand. And he despised his weakness.

  He shook her off. “I ought to thank you,” he said, “but I’ve no more gratitude to spare.”

  He clambered into the saddle and set off without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  TIR-NA-NOG WAS EXACTLY as Mariah had left it. The only difference was that Cairbre was no longer waiting.

  That fact left her in a desperate quandary. She was in a strange land she knew nothing about save through visions and a single previous visit; she had no idea how to find Cairbre in this vast and exotic world, and every moment she lingered brought Ash closer to death.

  She still didn’t know how much of what he’d said had been lies, but she didn’t believe for a moment that Cairbre would let Ash escape unless he was certain that Donnington could kill him, with or without the help of a virgin. She must convince Cairbre to call off his mortal hound. Convince him that she could still become what he wanted her to be…even if he chose to drive her mad.

  There was no more time for thinking, let alone regret. She looked in each direction, seeking some sign of where to go. To the east the meadows stretched endlessly to the horizon; to the west rose a range of mountains, violet in the distance. To the north, beyond the meadow, lay the barrier of a forest, and beyond that…

  She set off across the meadow, silver trees swaying above her. The lush emerald grass rustled with the movements of small animals: a stoat popped up its pointed muzzle to watch her pass, a fox emerged from some hiding place, and a badger scuffled along in her wake. The herd of crystal-horned deer lifted their heads as if to judge her friend or foe.

  She couldn’t have said why she headed toward the forest. Her feet seemed to move by themselves; only after she had gone half the distance did she realize that she was being guided, chivvied along by the creatures she had glimpsed: stoat and fox, grumpy badger and shy hedgehog, the herd of deer who paced at her side, creatures she could not quite see but which seemed to belong in a place few mortals could ever have imagined. Birds of brilliant plumage swooped and banked overhead, twittering as if in encouragement.

  Perhaps they meant her ill. More likely they were all under Cairbre’s command and were simply leading her to him. But they didn’t frighten her. She lowered one hand, and the fox nuzzled her like a friendly dog; she lifted the other, and birds alighted on her fingertips.

  The forest filled her vision. The animals grew quiet; even the birds had stopped singing. Trees with bark of woven gold and leaves like colored glass closed in over her head, tinkling in the faintest of breezes. One by one the animals fell behind: first the hedgehogs and mice, then the deer, then the badger and stoat, until only the fox remained. It pushed its damp nose into the palm of her hand.

  Go forward. She went, expecting Cairbre to appear at any moment. The trees blocked the sunlight, yet the reflections from their leaves lit her path like a thousand candles.

  “Cairbre!” she called.

  The fox shook out its russet fur and yipped as if to urge her to silence. She entered a small clearing and stopped. Something was coming. She could feel the tiny hairs on her arms rising, her skin tingling with anticipation.

  White shapes drifted like ghosts among the golden trunks. Dark eyes caught the light and cast it back like black diamonds.

  Unicorns.

  Mariah didn’t dare move. They crept out of the trees’ dense shelter with fearful steps, heads bobbing, nostrils flared. One by one they approached her, stretching their necks and then snapping them back as if they expected her to strike out.

  If Mariah hadn’t seen Ash in his true form, she might have sunk to her knees in obeisance to their beauty. But these creatures were faint shadows compared to their king, frightened prey prepared to flee at the slightest threat.

  “I won’t hurt you,” she said, and spread her hands. “See? I have no weapons. I mean you no harm.”

  The boldest of the unicorns, her coat a dull bronze, extended her head and nickered.

  “She asks who are you are.”

  Mariah turned sharply. The fox sat on its haunches behind her, as serious as a judge waiting to pronounce sentence.

  “Nola?” Mariah whispered.

  The fox flattened its ears and glanced toward the female unicorn, who tossed her head.

  “I’ve told Adara that you have come from Arion,” the fox said.

  The unicorns drew closer, forming a loose semicircle around her. Perhaps two dozen beasts crowded
into the clearing, rubbing shoulders and shifting from foot to foot in nervous anticipation.

  Arion, a voice whispered in her mind. Arion.

  “They want to know what has become of him,” the fox said.

  Mariah rubbed her face. “How can I explain?” she asked. “I don’t even understand what has happened here. Why did you lead me to this place?”

  The fox gave a very human sigh. “They do not speak your language, nor you theirs. But you are still of Fane blood. If you are willing to open your mind…”

  “I must find Cairbre.”

  “You will. But you must also have allies.”

  “For what purpose? Arion’s only hope—”

  “Lies in what happens here and now.”

  The unicorns moved so near that Mariah could have touched them without stretching her arms. Arion. Arion.

  “See what they have seen,” the fox said. “Until you have shared their fear, you cannot convince them.”

  “Convince them of what? I have no time—”

  The words became garbled on her tongue. Shapes drifted through her mind, gaining form and substance as she followed their passage. A herd of unicorns, perhaps two dozen of them—not dull now, but shining brightly enough to rival Tir-na-Nog’s glorious sun—so stunningly alluring that every other creature, no matter how magnificent in its own right, bowed down before them.

  And leading them was Arion. He was indeed a king—a king with no need of a crown or any other human badge of royalty. It lived in him, in his grace, in his eyes, in the horn he bore so majestically.

  The scene changed. Cairbre stood before Arion in the depths of a forest, gesturing with bold, forceful strokes of his hands. The unicorns ranged behind Arion shook their heads, and stamped in distress and anger. Arion, his neck arched proudly, showed his strong white teeth to the Fane lord, and Mariah realized that he was laughing. He swung his hindquarters toward Cairbre and trotted away, his subjects behind him.

  Cairbre, his face dark with fury, vanished into thin air. There was another confused blur of images, and suddenly Arion was alone in a sort of courtyard, enclosed by intricately engraved stone walls set with rows of velvet-draped seats. Three score Fane, lords and ladies both, sat overlooking the central arena where Arion waited, his neck weighted with chains that held him captive.

  At the head of the courtyard rose a throne carved as if from a single enormous ruby. A dark-haired Fane sat on the throne, an obsidian scepter in his hand, his robes like midnight scattered with living stars. Lord Oberon. It could be no other. Beside him stood Cairbre. He bent to whisper in Lord Oberon’s ear. Oberon raised the scepter, and all at once Arion and Cairbre stood by the very Gate through which Mariah had passed.

  A handful of Fane, cold as graven images and no more merciful, formed a circle around the Gate. Cairbre, his face turned away from them, grasped the chain around Arion’s neck and spoke in the long, ivory ear.

  Mist gathered, lightning flashing within it like fireflies caught in a bottle. Cairbre and Arion plunged into the mist.

  Mariah blinked. She was in the forest again, the unicorns watching her with flattened ears, the fox slightly behind her.

  “Do you understand what you have seen?” the fox asked.

  “No,” Mariah whispered. “Arion defied Cairbre in some way…”

  “Cairbre demanded that the unicorns use their horns to injure Oberon’s supporters,” the fox said, “and then refuse to heal them unless the king’s men surrendered to Cairbre. But Arion denied Cairbre, who caused him to be punished and cast out of Tir-na-Nog. If you surrender yourself to Cairbre now, you will gain nothing. Arion will not be permitted to survive unless Cairbre is stopped.”

  “Stopped?” She looked into the crowd of silent unicorns. “How? What do they want of me?”

  “They are afraid,” the fox said. “Their king was punished for daring to defy Cairbre. They fear that he will do the same to them.”

  And yet they still had power. Mariah felt it clearly; theirs was a match for any but the most potent Fane magic—power that resided in their horns, magic that could wound the Fane, who were very nearly invincible. It was that inborn ability, the fox explained, that Cairbre had hoped to use in his coup against Oberon, who would never anticipate the interference of creatures who had always held themselves aloof from Fane life and politics.

  But Cairbre had failed to convince Arion to aid him. Too late, blinded by his own arrogance, Arion had discovered that Cairbre had won the ear of the very man he hoped to unseat from the throne of Tir-na-Nog. With his lies, Cairbre had convinced Oberon that the unicorns had planned their own coup against the ruler of Tir-na-Nog, and he had urged his king to cast Arion out of the Blessed Land.

  But it hadn’t been done merely for revenge. It had been carefully arranged to support Cairbre’s bargain with Donnington.

  “Cairbre gained the power he sought,” the fox said, “but he is not secure in his rule. Rebellion is already brewing.”

  “The other Fane are fighting Cairbre?” Mariah asked.

  “Yes. But even the Fane who hate him cannot overcome his allies without help.”

  Mariah finally understood. “The unicorns…they could hurt him.”

  “But they have been too long away from your world and have forgotten what it is to fight for their lives.”

  Could the same be true of Ash? Would he allow his own life to be taken rather than defend himself?

  Mariah tried to put such paralyzing thoughts out of her mind. “If they won’t fight,” she said, “why hasn’t Cairbre come after them?”

  “Because he knows they present no threat without their leader to guide them.”

  “What can I do?”

  As if in answer, the bronze female, Adara, stepped closer. She bent her head in a kind of obeisance, then delicately lipped Mariah’s hand.

  “They know, you see,” the fox said. “They smell Arion on your skin, they feel him in your heart. They will trust you as they would no other.”

  “You think that I—”

  “You must, if you wish to save Arion.”

  “Can they…can we truly make a difference?”

  “Once Cairbre hoped to use the element of surprise to overthrow Oberon. Now that advantage is in your hands.” She hesitated. “You still have a choice, Mariah. You may choose to return to earth, where you may very well escape Cairbre in the end. And honesty compels me to tell you that if you stay and fail, Cairbre will surely follow through with his threat to destroy your mind.”

  Shaking, Mariah looked at each of the unicorns in turn. They were watching her, waiting for a sign. Waiting for the signal to take their own kind of revenge.

  It is up to you now.

  Mariah lifted her chin. “Will you come with me?” she asked them. “Will you fight Cairbre to save Arion?”

  The unicorns shifted and stamped their feet in a kind of rhythm, like tribesmen pounding their spears upon the ground. They tossed their heads, displaying their horns, and it seemed to Mariah that their coats began to gleam as if lit from within.

  Adara pushed at Mariah’s chest with her muzzle, then knelt, a sign for Mariah to mount. There was no sidesaddle to accommodate Mariah’s riding habit, and she looked around for some sharp object to tear her skirts, so she could ride astride.

  The unicorn dipped her horn, and fabric ripped like paper. Mariah climbed onto Adara’s back. Muscle rippled underneath her, and the creature’s magic flowed into her arms and legs. She was no longer Mariah Marron or Lady Donnington. She had become a queen.

  Turning about, Mariah’s mount bobbed her head at the other unicorns. The fox leaped up onto a silver unicorn’s back, balancing easily with her front paws planted on the beast’s withers. The others fell into place behind Adara and trotted single file along the path by which Mariah had entered the forest. As soon as they were clear of the border of golden-barked trees, they began to run.

  Had Mariah not already experienced the glory of riding on Arion’s back, she might have
come very near to swooning with sheer joy. Instead, she bent over Adara’s neck and breathed deeply, gathering her courage for the fight to come.

  In a little while the city rose up out of a mist, its diamond towers reaching toward the sun. The thought of deadly conflict going on behind its elegantly inscribed, richly colored walls seemed inconceivable.

  But something was happening. Even as the unicorns raced closer to the city, Mariah saw streams of colored light burst skyward from somewhere within its walls: red and green, gold and blue.

  “The battle has been joined,” the fox said, as its mount drew level with Adara.

  “How do we get in?” Mariah asked.

  “There is a Gate to the south, hardly used by the Fane. It will almost certainly not be guarded now that Cairbre has been challenged from within. You must maintain the element of surprise for as long as possible. Ride directly for the center of the city, and do not pause until you have encountered Cairbre and his allies.” She leaped from her mount’s back. “You will not need me, Mariah. Your heart will guide you.”

  “I have no power.”

  “You possess more than you know. Farewell.”

  “Nola…”

  But the fox was gone. Mariah wrapped her fists in Adara’s mane.

  “Are you ready?” she asked the unicorn.

  With a fresh burst of speed, the beast lowered her head and flew toward the city’s southernmost wall. In minutes they were plunging through an open ivy-shaded gate and into a broad lane lined with russet trees. Painted columns rose to support delicate roofs, the rooms beneath open to the scented air.

  But Mariah had no interest in Fane architecture, no matter how beautiful. She heard the distant sounds of conflict: the clash of weapons, shouts of challenge, cries of anger.

  For a moment the unicorns faltered. Adara slowed to a trot and then a halt. The others stopped behind her.

  “This is not the time to give up,” Mariah said urgently. “Win your freedom! Fight!”

  Adara bobbed her head, sweat darkening the hair on her sleek neck. Mariah rested her forehead against the unicorn’s mane.

  Listen to me. I am one of you.