Split Infinity

The unicorn herd faced him silently, and so did Kurrelgyre’s bitch. Stile realized it was a fair question, and a hard one. No one had actually accused the Lady of murder; the question was about Stile’s own loyalties.  He was, potentially, the most powerful person here. If the Lady were exonerated, what would he do then?

“If you take Neysa into the herd, and breed her and treat her as befits a mare of quality, I welcome it.  Otherwise she is welcome to stay with me, and be my honored steed, as long as she wishes.”

 “And what of thine oath to her?”

“What of it?” Stile snapped.

“What of Neysa, when thou breakest that oath?”

Stile suffered another abrupt siege of wrath. “Who claims I am a breaker of oaths?”

“The Stallion claims,” Clip said with a certain satisfaction.

For a moment Stile’s anger choked off his speech.  His hand went for his sword, but slapped only cloth; he had no sword now. Only Hulk’s firm, understanding hand held him back from a physical and foolish assault on the huge unicorn.

Kurrelgyre stepped forward and spoke instead. “I was with this man when the Black Adept imprisoned him, but he did no magic, though he was dying of thirst and knew that the simplest spell, such as even any one of us might do, would bring him water and freedom. He freed us from the clutch of the Yellow Adept without magic. He slew the golem of the Blue Demesnes by hand, without magic. He showed me how to regain my status in the pack, using no magic. Now he comes again to this frame—without magic. Never in my presence has he violated his oath. If the Stallion snorts other-wise, the Stallion offends me.”

The Herd Stallion’s horn nicked, glinting in the sun.  He pawed the ground with one massive forehoof. The lesser males drew in to flank him, and the mares shifted position, every horn lowering to point forward. The unicorns were beautiful, garbed in their naturally bright reds, blues and greens, but they meant business.

The hairs on Kurrelgyre’s neck lifted exactly like the hackles of a wolf, though he retained man-form. His pack closed in about him, wolves and bitches alike, with an almost subvocal snarling. They were quite ready to pick a quarrel with unicorns!

“Hark,” Hulk said. He was the only one with the height and direction to see over the massed unicorns.  “The Lady comes. And a small unicorn.”

Stile felt abruptly weak with relief. The Herd Stallion turned, and snorted a triple-octave chord. The herd parted, forming a channel. Now everyone could see the Lady Blue and Neysa walking from the castle gate, side by side, both healthy. There had, after all, been no trouble. No overt trouble.

The Lady was lovely. She wore a pale-blue gown, blue flower-petal slippers, and pointed blue headdress.  Stile had admired her form before, but now she had flowered into matchless beauty. He had, in the past hectic hours, forgotten the impact the touch of her hands had had on him. Now, with his fear for Neysa’s safety eased, his memory came back strongly, and his knees felt warm. What a woman she was!

And Neysa—what of her? She tripped daintily along beside the Lady, her black mane and tail in perfect order, her hooves and horn shining. She was beautiful too. Stile had never seen his relationship with her in terms of choice; he had tacitly assumed she would al-ways be with him. But Neysa was more than a steed, and his association with her had been more than that of a man and animal. If he became the Blue Adept, not only would he practice the magic that she abhorred, he would take to himself the human woman. Stile and Neysa—they could not continue what had been. That disruption had been inevitable from the moment of the discovery that he could perform powerful magic. The wolves and other unicorns had understood this better than he had; they were more familiar with the imperatives of this world. Yet how could he betray Neysa?

They came to stand before Stile. Stile inclined his head, honoring formalities, though he had no notion what was about to happen. One issue had been defused;

Neysa lived. The other issue remained to be settled.

“Hello, Neysa. Hello, Lady Blue.”

The two females made a slight nod, almost together, but did not speak. The Herd Stallion snorted another chord. “Choose,” Clip said, translating.

“By what right dost thou make such demand of me?” Stile cried, reacting with half-guilty anger.

“The Stallion is responsible for the welfare of his herd,” Clip replied. “He permitted thee to use a surplus mare, an she be not abused. But now she has yielded her loyalty to thee, thou mayst not cast her aside with impunity.”

“If I cast her aside, she returns to the herd,” Stile replied, hating the words, but his caution was being overridden by his emotion. “Art thou trying to force me to do this—or not to do this?”

“An thou dost cast her aside, it is shame to the herd, and that shame must be abated in blood. Thou kespest her—or thou payest the consequence. The Stallion has so decreed.”