Unicorn Point

Meanwhile, Troubot found that his new path did move on up. It was a better path than it seemed from below; the cur vature of the mountain tended to conceal it. He followed it up, and soon realized that it, too, reached the top.  Tsetse was climbing again. Troubot threw another bomb, and rendered her path slippery again. She had to wait for it to clear before proceeding, and meanwhile he continued his ascent. She apparently had no bombs of her own. His deci sion to load up on them seemed to spell a critical advantage for him.

Then, as he was almost close enough to touch the peak and win, she moved. She did have a bomb; now it was looping toward him.

Its aim was good; it was going to splatter on the path just above him. He could not reach it in time. He did not try.  Instead, he hurled a bomb of his own, not at Tsetse, but at the other bomb.

The two bombs met in air, and exploded. But his had been thrown later and harder, and its force carried the spray of water away from the path. Some water fell, but not enough to dislodge him. He paused to be sure the path was not too wet, then proceeded on up.

Tsetse, peering around the slope, saw this, and scrambled toward the peak herself. Troubot lobbed another bomb at her, and washed her back down to the lesser slope again. Before she could recover, he made it the rest of the way and clapped his metal arm on the top of the peak.

A gong sounded. He had won!

Tsetse, below, looked so forlorn that he knew he would have felt terrible remorse, had he been a living man of her species. But as it was, what he felt was more like joy.

13 - Clip

It was a long trek to the Ogre Demesnes, but Clip was glad for it, because it gave him time to think. He had to represent the Adept Stile against the ogres, and he was not at all sure his unicorns could win this siege. These days of travel with the Herd allowed him many hours to ponder strategies.  In the evenings and nights the Herd grazed, sleeping afoot.  Clip intended to do the same, but this evening he summoned his sister and niece for a conference in human form.  “My mind be taut with doubt,” he confessed. “It be easy for others to say a ‘corn can beat an ogre, being faster, smarter and more versatile, but that be illusion. In single fair combat it be either’s win.”

“Aye,” Neysa agreed. She had had experience with many kinds of creatures, and had long since lost the bravado of youth.

“But can a ‘corn not run an ogre through belly or heart with horn, and be done with it?” Fleta asked.

Clip looked at her. In human form, as in her natural one, she was much like her mother. Each had the same black hide, and the socks on the hind feet: Neysa’s white, Fleti’s golden, in contrast to his own blue hide and red socks. In this human form that meant black hair and black clothing, and white or yellow socks. Neysa was old and Fleta young, but that seemed to be most of the difference between them.  He was so glad they had reconciled at last!  “A ‘corn can run an ogre through, aye,” he said. “But an ogre can smash a ‘corn dead with one blow o’ his hamfist.”

“But ogres change form not,” she persisted. “A ‘corn could assume an aerial form and fly in close—”

“And the ogre will throw a rock and knock that flyer out o’ the air,” Clip responded. “Their aim be deadly!”

“Then in manform, with weapons—good bows and ar rows!” she persisted.

“An ogre can hardly be hurt by an arrow; it only tickles his hide. He can throw a rock as far as an arrow can fly, so the bowman needs must look to his own hide.” Fleta was silent; she now appreciated the problem. Unicoms normally ranged the fields, running and grazing; they seldom encountered ogres, who were more attuned to the jungle, and to canyons, where there was plenty to bash. In addition, she had been much occupied in recent years with her romance with the rovot, and the raising of their foal, and the loss of that foal. How would she know about ogres?

“How relate they to music?” Neysa asked.  “That be uncertain. I was traveling alone once, and was playing my horn, and came upon an ogre who seemed to be sleeping. I paused, wary o’ him, and then he woke and growled. I was tired, and sought not a fight, so pretended to see him not. I resumed my playing and trotted on, and he just stood there listening. After, I marveled, and thought mayhap he had liked my playing; the Adept Stile has termed my horn a mellow saxophone. But I be not sure; mayhap the ogre was tired too.”

“This accords with what I have noted,” Neysa said. “Me thinks the ogres like music, or at least be intrigued by it.”

Clip was interested. “Thinkst thou that many would pause for a serenade?”

“Mayhap.”

“We could do a rare show,” Clip said, working it out.  “Dancing in step, to our music, keeping a strong beat. An it distracted them, it be a fan way to fight.”

“In a siege?” Fleta asked, growing excited. “But that were folly for them!”

 “Ogres be magnificently stupid,” Clip said. “Folly be well within their capability.”