Blue Adept

Next morning they were off again. They cantered gently until noon, when they spied the herd. It was grazing on a broad slope leading down to an extensive swamp. Beyond that swamp. Stile remembered, lay the palace of the Oracle, who answered one and only one question for any per-son, in that person’s life. The Oracle had advised Stile to “Know thyself”—and despite the seeming unhelpfulness of it, that had indeed been the key to his future. For that self he had come to know was the Blue Adept.

A lookout unicorn blew a trumpet blast, and the members of the herd lifted their heads, then trotted together to form a large semicircle open toward the two approaching unicorns. Perceiving that formidable array of horns. Stile was glad he was not approaching as an enemy. Neysa had drilled him in the use of his rapier by fencing with her horn, and he had come to appreciate what a deadly weapon it could be. This was another respect in which unicorns were fundamentally different from horses: they were armed—more properly, horned—and were as likely to attack as to flee. No sensible tiger, for example, would attempt to pounce on a unicorn.

They trotted into the open cup of the semicircle. The Herd Stallion stood in the center, a magnificent specimen of equine evolution. His body was pearly gray deepening into black legs, his mane and tail were silver, and his head golden. He stood some eighteen hands tall, and was splendidly muscled. His horn was a glinting, spiral marvel: truly a shaft to be reckoned with. He played a melodic accordion chord on it, and the circle closed in behind the new arrivals.

Stile felt his weight increasing. He saw his arms before him. His spells of lightness and invisibility were abating, though he had not terminated them.

The Stallion snorted. Clip and Neysa hastily spun about and retreated to the rim. Stile sprang to the ground before the Stallion. Stile was now fully solid and visible.  The Stallion shifted to man-form. He was huge and muscular, though not to Hulk’s extent. He had a short horn in his forehead. “Welcome to the Herd Demesnes, 0 Blue Adept,” he said. “To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of this encounter?”

So the closing of the unicorn circle nullified even the spells of an Adept! Stile’s magic could prevail over a single unicorn, but not over the full herd—except in special cases. Of course his two spells were now a day old and must have weakened with time and use, since no spell was eternal. Still, the effect was worth noting. Stile was not in danger from hostile magic here, because the unicorn ring would also nullify the spells of any enemy Adept. He retained the basic privacy of his mission.

“A greeting, Stallion. I come to negotiate.”

The man-Stallion put three fingers to his mouth and blew another chord that still sounded like an accordion.  Two unicorns trotted in, supporting a structure on their horns. They set it down and retreated. It was a table fashioned of old unicorn horns, with attached seats. It was surely far more valuable than ivory, for much of the magic of unicorns was associated with their horns.  The Stallion sat, gesturing Stile to do the same.

“What has an Adept to negotiate with a simple animal like me?”

Stile realized this was not going to be easy. The Herd Stallion was not partial to him, since Stile had embarrassed the creature in the course of their first encounter. He would have to explain carefully. “Thou knowest I was murdered not long ago.”

“Thou hast no need to negotiate for recognition of thy status or right to thy Demesnes,” the Stallion said, surprised. “We honor the way that is. Only this herd and Kurrelgyre’s werewolf pack know thou art not the original Adept. We accept thee in lieu, since thy magic is equivalent and thou’rt a being of integrity, as are we. No news of thy condition has escaped the herd.”

Stile smiled. “It is not that. Sire. I have not made a secret of my status. It is that I must secure my position and avenge my murder.”

“Indubitably.”

“I believe it is an enemy Adept I seek. Therefore I must approach the matter cautiously, and trust myself only to my most reliable companion. That, of course, is mine oath-friend Neysa. Therefore—“

“Now I chew on thy gist. A gravid mare would not be fit for such excursion.”

“Exactly. I therefore seek a postponement of her breeding, until my mission is done.”

The Stallion frowned. “She has missed two seasons—“

“Because she was excluded from the herd—because of her color,” Stile said grimly. “Her color has not changed.”

“Ah, but her status has! She has connections she lacked before. The animals of my herd have taken a fancy to her, and the wolves of the pack we oft have fought no longer attack, because of her. In all the herds of all the valleys of Phaze, none save her is steed to an Adept.”

“Steed and friend,” Stile said. “A friendship well earned.”

“Perhaps. In any event, that makes up for her deficiency of—“