Unicorn Point

“My word binds me,” Mach said tightly. “I would not use my power directly against you, and do not use it for the Adepts, but to the extent they can profit from my contact with Bane, they are entitled. I think it is fair to say that this profit is significant.”

“It is overwhelming,” Stile admitted. “If I can not stop it soon, I will lose hope of ever doing so.”

“I have no comment.”

Of course he didn’t. He knew that what he was doing was shifting the balance to favor the Adverse Adepts in Phaze, and the Contrary Citizens in Proton, but he was bound by his word. Surely he hoped that Stile would somehow prevail, but doubted that this was possible. Thus had events mocked their preferences. “Why did you seek me?” Stile asked.  “It is personal. In three days Flach will visit you for a week, as he has been doing every month. We are concerned about him, and hope you can help.”

 “Flach is a fine lad,” Stile said. “A joy to Neysa as much as to me, despite our foolishness in opposing his generation.  He thrives as both man and unicorn, and we always look forward to his presence.”

“But we expect more of him,” Mach said. “By this time he should be developing his third form, and perhaps progressing to others, as well as learning magic. But he shows no sign of this, and has become increasingly withdrawn. Fleta fears he is retarded.”

Neysa made a musical snort of negation. “He is not retarded,” Stile said.

“But four-year-old unicorn colts generally have mastered their third forms,” Mach said. “And they are open, expressive, inquiring. Flach is not. We fear that something is bothering him, or that he is coming to recognize his inadequacy compared to the unicorns, so is withdrawing. Will you explore this?”

“I hardly need to,” Stile said. “I know the lad is advanced rather than retarded, and is developing powers we hardly anticipate. Your concern is groundless.”

Mach shook his head grimly, not wanting to contradict his elder, but certain he knew better. “Fleta and I know you will do what you can for him,” he said.

“Always,” Stile agreed gruffly. “I assure you that your son will surprise you.”

“I hope so,” Mach said. He glanced at Neysa. “Fleta asks your forgiveness.”

Neysa faced away. This had become almost routine: Fleta had alienated her dam by marrying Mach and joining the cause of the Adverse Adepts, and that remained unforgiven.  Neysa well understood and respected Fleta’s reason, but felt she should not have surrendered principle for love. Neysa herself had not. Thus Neysa did not associate with Fleta any more than the barest minimum necessary to fetch Flach and return him. Fleta longed for a change, but it never came.  Unicorns of the old school were unyielding.

“Then we part,” Mach said regretfully. “I shall return to Proton; Bane will be in touch.” He became the griffin, spread his wings, and launched into the air. Soon he was gone.  “I know you want to restore relations with Fleta,” Stile said as they resumed their journey. “Perhaps some day some thing will enable it.”

Neysa did not answer, but that was answer enough. Her nature prevented her from forgiving her offspring, but she loved Fleta, and hoped that some legitimate avenue of forgiveness would develop. Just as Stile hoped that he would somehow be able to prevail over the Adverse Adepts. Perhaps both hopes were futile—but perhaps not.  For there was much that was not spoken. All of them knew that the Adverse Adepts kept constant watch on Stile and Neysa and the Lady Blue, so as to block any action they might initiate against the Adepts. Anything spoken was over heard and analyzed. Perhaps the Adepts were foolish enough to believe that there were no unspoken plans, but Stile doubted that.

So he said nothing truly private aloud. This had become automatic these past five years. But he spoke freely of other things, so as to maintain the semblance of carelessness, and also to fatigue the snoopers with trivia. That way if some thing private slipped out, it just might be overlooked. After all, constant surveillance was also a constant drain on their magic.

“Mach’s power is greater than I had thought,” he said.  “He cured your founder without seeming effort. I could have done it, but not nearly so readily.”

She made a musical agreement. Unicorns were resistive to incidental magic, but Adept magic was hardly incidental. The demons must have plotted for a long time to obtain and place that founder spell, and it had been devastatingly effective. Yet Mach had nullified both the demons and spell as if such magic was child’s play—which perhaps it was, now, to him. Stile was glad that the Robot Adept was not his enemy, even if he was not his ally.