Juxtaposition

7. Hostage (F)

The image of the Lady Blue remained. Stile worked his unit controls to survey the area, looking outward from the West Pole. In a moment he spied an ogre.

It was a large, hugely muscled humanoid creature, strongly reminiscent of Stile's late friend Hulk. Stile felt a pang at the memory; Hulk had been an intelligent, sensitive, considerate man, a Gamesman like Stile himself — but he had been betrayed and murdered by Stile's enemy. Stile had sworn an oath of vengeance, which he had implemented in his fashion — but that had not restored his friend. In any event, the resemblance was superficial; the ogre's face was a gross muddy morass of nose and mouth, with two little eyes perched slightly above. The ears dangled down like deflated tires.

Clip changed to man-form and approached the creature. "Ogre, why dost thou come here?" the unicorn inquired.

"Blue be mine enemy," the creature croaked. Its open mouth was like that of a frog with triangular teeth.

"Blue is not thine enemy!" the Lady called. "Blue had a friend who was very like an ogre. Blue never harmed thy kind. Why dost thou believe ill of him now?"

"The Oracle says."

Another Oracular message? Stile distrusted this.

So did the Lady Blue. "Another message was altered, methinks, to make Blue seem villain. Art thou sure-"

But the ogre, dim of wit, roared and charged, making the ground tremble by the fall of its feet. Its hamfist swung forward like a wrecking ball. Ogres simply were not much for dialogue.

"I've got to get there!" Stile cried.

"We are not yet at the curtain, sir," Sheen said. "It will be another ten minutes."

Stile clenched his teeth and fists, watching the scene in Phaze.

Clip shifted back to his natural form and launched himself after the ogre. The Lady Blue, no fainting flower in a crisis, stepped nimbly aside. Ogre and unicorn lunged past her, Clip placing himself between the other two.

The ogre braked, its huge hairy feet literally screeching against the turf. But as it reoriented on the Lady, the unicorn barred the way.

The ogre massed perhaps a thousand pounds. The unicorn, small for his species, was about the same. The ogre's hamfists were deadly — but so was the unicorn's pointed horn. It was a momentary stand-off.

Then a second ogre appeared. "Look out behind thee, Lady!" Stile cried. She heard him and whirled. The second ogre's two hamhands were descending on her head.

The Lady ducked down and scooted between the monster's legs. The curtain was now just ahead of her. As the ogre turned, she straddled the curtain and stood facing it.

But other ogres were appearing. Two converged on the Lady from either side of the curtain. Clip charged to help her — but that permitted the first ogre to converge also.

As the two pounced, the Lady spelled herself across the curtain, holding her breath. The ogres crashed into each other where she had been. Stile could not see her in the image; it was difficult to see across the curtain anyway, and the holo pickup was oriented on the fantasy side. But he knew she was in extreme discomfort, with the thin, polluted air of Proton and the barren terrain.

But in a moment she reappeared, just beyond the brutes. She had avoided them by using the curtain. Clip spied her and rushed to join her again.

Two more ogres came into view. The five lumbered down upon the woman and unicorn. Clip launched himself at the closest, lowering his horn, skewering the monster through the center.

The ogre was so heavy the unicorn could not lift it; Clip

had to back away, extricating his horn, shaking the monster's blood from it. But the ogre was mortally wounded; brown pus welled from the wound, front and back, and the creature staggered and fell with a crash like that of an uprooted tree.

Meanwhile, the remaining creatures had reconverged on the Lady. "Here to me, Hinblue!" she called, and stepped back across the curtain.

"Aren't we there yet?" Stile demanded. "She can't hold out much longer!"

"Sir, there seems to be a power interruption," Sheen said. "This passage needs repair; we must detour."

"How long?" Stile cried.

"Another fifteen minutes, sir, I fear."

Stile clapped his hands to his head in nonphysical pain. "My Lady! My Lady!"

"I love her too, sir," Sheen murmured.

Stile could only watch the unfolding sequence helplessly. He should never have left the Lady Blue so lightly guarded!

The Lady reappeared beyond the ogres as Hinblue arrived. "Now you can catch me not!" she cried, vaulting on to her fine steed.

The four ogres nevertheless started after her. Clip raced to join Hinblue.

But as they moved out, readily outdistancing the monsters, a small ravine appeared ahead. "Watch out!" Stile cried.

Too late. The distracted horse put a foot in it. Instantly Hinblue went down and the Lady flew off and forward. Athlete that she was, she landed on her feet, running, unhurt.

But Hinblue was hurt. She got to her feet, but she was bruised and lame. She could only hobble, not run. The ogres were closing in again.

Clip assumed man-form. "Lady, ride me! The mare can not carry thee."

"Oh, no!" Stile breathed. "I know what she will say."

"And desert my horse, offspring of the Hinny and the Blue Stallion?" the Lady Blue demanded. "Never!"

"She said it," Stile said, suffering.

"Then must we guard her," Clip said. He became unicorn again, and stood facing the four onrushing brutes.

They were no longer astride the curtain. The Lady could not use it to save herself — and in any event would not have left her horse. She drew a narrow, sharp knife and stood beside Clip, ready to fight.

The monsters came — but slowed. They had seen the fate of the first one to encounter the unicorn's horn. Still, they were four against two, and towered over their opposition.

A hole opened in the ground. An ugly head poked out, swathed in bandages. For an instant Stile thought yet another monster had joined the attack. But then he realized it was Trool the troll, the one who had helped them escape the Orange Demesnes. "Here!" the troll croaked.

The Lady recognized him. She was evidently uncertain of the creature's motive. Her Adept husband was no longer with her, and trolls liked human flesh.

"Escape," Trool said, indicating his tunnel. He was offering a route out of the trap.

"I thank thee, Trool," the Lady said. "But my steed fits not in thy tunnel."

The troll opened out another section of turf, and another. There was a shallow cave there. "This crisis was anticipated," he said, his voice becoming clearer, as if a long-disused faculty was being revived. "I labored to prepare."

The ogres were now very close. The Lady decided to risk the help of the troll. Without further protest, she led Hinblue into the cave, then stood at the entrance with her knife poised.

The ogres, outraged at this seeming escape, charged into the gully. But Clip charged too. His deadly horn punctured another ogre, this time from the side. The monster fell, squirting its brown juice, and again the others hesitated. There were only three of them now, and they evidently did not like dying. If any two had pounced on Clip together, they could have torn the unicorn apart — but they evidently lacked the wit or courage to do that. They also seemed nervous about Trool, who was a monster

somewhat like themselves, though only half as stout. Why was he participating?

"That is Neysa's brother, sir?" Sheen asked. The fact that she was now using "sir" warned him that she was not sure they had complete privacy.

"Yes. He's one good unicorn."

"And ogres eat people?"

"Yes. Trolls eat people, too, and horses. But Trool can be trusted — I think."

Finally the ogres consulted, and came to the conclusion Stile had feared. Two of them stalked Clip together, while the third faced Trool, preventing the troll from interfering. Stile realized an ogre should have been able to demolish a troll on open ground, but not within a troll's tunnels, so this was merely interference rather than combat. The Lady Blue had to stay with the horse she guarded. Clip had to fight alone.

The unicorn could have changed into hawk-form and flown away, but he did not. He charged again. His horn skewered the left ogre — but the right one brought a ham-fist down on the unicorn's rump. Clip's hindsection collapsed under the power of that blow. He was helpless, down on the ground, his hindlegs possibly crippled, his horn still wedged in the left ogre's torso.

Now the Lady Blue leaped forward, knife flashing. She sliced into the heavy arm of the right-hand ogre. Ichor welled out of a long slash, and the creature made a howl of pain.

Now the two remaining monsters retreated, one holding its wounded arm. Clip changed back into hawk-form, extricating himself, and the Lady held out her arm for him to perch on. He seemed shaken, limping, but not seriously hurt. Stile breathed a sigh of relief. The two returned to the impromptu cave.

For a time the ogres stayed back. Stile relaxed somewhat. The longer they waited, the better his chance to get to Phaze and correct the situation before any more harm was done. The capsule was proceeding with what seemed to him to be tedious slowness, but he knew Sheen was doing her best.

He decided he should divert his mind, as long as he

could not act. "Place that call to the Citizen," he said curtly. "But don't interfere with this image."

"Yes, sir." Sheen placed the call.

In a moment the face of a well-fed, middle-aged male Citizen appeared beside the image of the West Pole region. There were no serf or robot intermediaries this time. "Yes?" he inquired, peering at Stile.

"Kalder, I am Stile," Stile said briskly. He was rapidly shedding his apprehension about Citizens. "I am not sure you know me-"

"I don't," Kalder agreed brusquely.

"But about two months ago you gifted me with a humanoid robot. I was then a serf."

Raider's face wrinkled in perplexity. "I did?"

"This robot," Stile said, indicating Sheen.

Still there was no recognition in the man's face. Was this a misidentification? "Let me check my records," Kalder said.

In a moment the Citizen looked up. "I have it now. My staff handled it, without informing me. It was a routine protective measure."

"Routine measure?" Stile asked. "This is a five-gram robot! Why would you give her to a serf employed by another Citizen?"

Kalder's brow furrowed again. "That is peculiar. But I'm sure my chief of staff had reason. Let me see — yes, here it is. We received news that the chief horse trainer and jockey of a rival stable was to be assassinated, and the blame attached to me. I have one of the finest stables on Proton." He said this matter-of-factly, and Stile believed him. Citizens did not need to brag, and in his racing days he had come up against the entries of a number of excellent stables. He was probably familiar with Kalder's horses, if he cared to do the spot research necessary to align the Citizen's name with that of his stable. "Since that would have been an unpleasant complication, my chief of staff arranged to protect you anonymously. After all, it might have been a practical joke, leading to my embarrassment. Why take a chance?"

"You protected me — to save yourself from being framed or embarrassed," Stile said slowly. "No other reason?"

"None. I had no concern for you personally. I was not even aware of the matter until you called it to my attention just now. I leave such details to my staff."

That was some staff! But of course Stile had already discovered the caliber of staff a Citizen could afford. "How did your chief of staff know about this plot?"

Kalder checked his records again. "Anonymous message. That's why it could have been a joke. Was it?"

"It was not," Stile said. "Your robot saved my life on more than one occasion. Now I will marry her."

Kalder burst out laughing. "If her screws aren't loose, yours are! Be sure to invite me to the wedding! I'll gift you with a mail diaper for your cyborg offspring." He faded out.

A cyborg was a combination of flesh and machine, such as a robot with a grafted human brain, neither fish nor fowl. They generally did not last long. This was a cruel gibe, but Kalder was not a bad type, as Citizens went. The mystery remained. Who had sent the anonymous message to Raider's staff?

"The same party who sicked the Red Adept on you, perhaps," Sheen said, following his thought.

"And who may be fouling me up with changed Oracle pronouncements," Stile agreed. "Now more of the pattern emerges. It could all stem from a single source. That is my true enemy."

"Why would an enemy arrange to have you protected?"

"Why, indeed!"

"My circuitry is inadequate to solve that problem," she said, smiling briefly.

"And mine. Put your friends on that message to Kalder; see if they can trace its source."

"Yes, sir." She made a coded call.

Now something new was happening in Phaze. The scene had been still while the Lady Blue put her hands on Clip and healed his bruises and restored his confidence. The ogres had stayed back. But Clip's ears-he was back in natural form — were perking forward, and he blew a brief, startled note.

"I see nothing," the Lady said. "What is it?"

Clip did not answer. His nostrils twitched. Obviously he

heard and smelled something. Now, very faintly, Stile heard it too: the tinkling of little bells. Why did that seem familiar?

Then the source came into sight. It was another unicorn. This one was female, and lovely. Her coat was a deep red, almost purple, and shone with sleek health. Her mane rippled iridescently. As she approached, she changed to an elegant blue heron, then to a cat, and finally back to equine form. Her bell rang again, sweetly.

Clip's ears vibrated with amazement. He blew a querying note on his horn. The mare responded with a truly melodious tinkling of bells.

"What does she say?" the Lady Blue asked nervously.

Clip changed to man-form. "She says she was thrown out by her herd. She is all alone in the wilderness."

"She seems familiar."

"She and her brother danced at the Unolympics. They defeated Neysa and me for the prize."

"Now I remember! What a pretty 'corn she is!"

"Aye," Clip agreed wistfully.

"But why would her herd cast her out, after she brought them the prize?"

"She refused to be bred by her Herd Stallion, who is getting old and violent, so he exiled her. Now she is without a herd."

"Can't she join another?"

"Nay, the Herd Stallions interfere not in each other's herds. She is ostracized."

"The way Neysa was! That's terrible!"

"Neysa was merely excluded for a time. Belle can never go back."

The pretty mare tinkled her bell again.

"She asks if I will go with her," Clip said.

"It's a trap," Stile said. "Don't trust her." But the holo pickup was too far from the present setting for them to hear him unless he shouted; transmission was largely oneway now. He did not want to shout and have the ogres know his situation.

"How is it she shows up here now?" the Lady inquired, evidently having a similar suspicion.

But Clip, enchanted, changed back to equine form. As a

lesser male, he was not permitted the chance to breed. This was obviously a phenomenal temptation.

The mare nickered and rang a lovely melody on her bell-horn. Clip quivered with eagerness.

"I don't trust this at all!" Stile said. "Clip has defended my Lady Blue against the monsters. Suddenly the loveliest mare unicorn in all the herds appears, luring him away."

"All males are fools in this manner," Sheen remarked.

"Clip, go not to her!" the Lady Blue pleaded. "At least wait until my Lord returns. It will not be long now."

But Clip had lost control of himself. Evidently the mare was in heat; he had to go to her. He fought the lure, but step by step he went.

The Lady Blue had to remain in the cave, guarding herself and Hinblue. She was not so foolish as to venture where the ogres could pounce.

Now at last the capsule approached the curtain. But the capsule was below ground, under desert; Stile could not step through at this level. "Get me to the surface, anywhere by the curtain!" he snapped, in a fever of impatience to reach the West Pole.

Sheen located a bus stop. Stile got out and hurried up the stain to the surface. "Keep things in order until my return," he called back.

"Don't get yourself killed, sir," she said.

Stile didn't answer. He held his breath and burst out on to the desert, running for the curtain. As he came upon its shimmer, he willed himself across — and found himself running on the green plain of Phaze.

Immediately he stopped, formulating a suitable spell in his mind while he played his harmonica to summon his power. Then he sang: "Convey me whole to the West Pole."

The spell wrenched him from here to there, making him nauseous. It was never comfortable to work his magic on himself, and he avoided it except in emergencies. Feeling ill, he looked out from the West Pole.

There was no sign of Clip the unicorn. Stile sang a flight-spell he had in reserve, rose into the air, and zoomed toward the ravine and cave where the Lady Blue waited.

The two ogres were there. As Stile approached, one of them picked up the troll one-handed and hurled him high and away. Apparently Trool had left the security of his tunnels and so fallen into the power of the more massive monsters.

"Please — freeze," Stile sang, willing the interpretation of the spell. But though there was a faint effort of magic, the action did not stop.

Then he remembered that he had already used this spell to freeze the sea monster of the Translucent Demesnes. No wonder it had lost its potency. "All will be still," he sang.

This time the tableau froze as intended. The two ogres became statues, along with their injured companion, who was licking his arm a short distance away. The troll hung motionless in the air. The very wind stopped — but Stile himself continued.

The Lady Blue stood in the cave, knife in hand, her lovely face frozen in grinning ferocity as she slashed at the nearest monster. Behind her stood Hinblue, lame but trying to move out and get in a good kick.

Stile made a subspell to free the Lady only. "My Lord!" she exclaimed, breathlessly glad to see him. "Clip — he was lured away!"

"I saw," Stile said. "First I must tend to thee and thy friends; then will I quest after the unicorn."

The Lady was all right, though tired; it was no easy thing to stand up to an ogre with no more than a knife. Stile made a spell to restore Hinblue, whose injury had been beyond the Lady's gentler healing power. Then he brought Trool sliding slowly down from midair. "A second time hast thou repaid my favor," Stile said. "Now do I owe thee one."

"Nay, Adept," Trool protested. "It was prophesied that three times must I tunnel to free thee and thine from hazard, ere the balance evens."

"Then gladly do I accept this rescue of my Lady!" Stile said. "But dost thou not know that the Blue Adept destroyed all thy tribe in fire?"

"As my tribe destroyed all thy village. Those scales are even. The debt is other."

Stile shrugged. "Why shouldst thou be burdened, not me?"

"Because thou must save Phaze." Trool turned and shambled back into his tunnel, which extended darkly into the ground. Stile was amazed at the creature's facility in tunneling — but of course troll magic was involved.

Then he noticed an object on the ground. He stooped carefully to pick it up, for his knees remained bad, able to bend only to right angles before pain began. Stile could use magic to move himself but not to heal himself, so had to live with the condition. He picked up the object.

It was a small figurine of a woman, quite well executed. "Who made this?" Stile asked.

'Trool," the Lady replied. "He appears clumsy, but his big hands have magic. When he is not tunneling, he turns that magic to sculpture, to relieve his nervousness."

"Facing two ogres, I can appreciate his concern! Why did he step out on to the land, where they had power?"

"To stop them from charging me," she said. "Trolls are not my favorite creature, but Trool acted bravely and selflessly. If again we meet, I shall call him friend."

"Yet if he is honoring a prophecy, I can not reward him," Stile said. "That might alter the meaning of his action and void the prophecy, causing mischief."

"True," she agreed soberly.

Stile contemplated the figurine. "This is thee!" he exclaimed, surprised.

She shrugged. "He begged my leave. He works better when he has a subject. I saw no harm."

Figurine magic could be potent — but the Red Adept had specialized in that, with her amulets, and she was gone. "No, no harm," Stile agreed. "He's a fine craftsman. This is as pretty a statuette as I've seen."

"We forget Clip," she reminded him, taking the statuette from him.

"In a moment. Now for these monsters." Stile conjured a cage around the two, then unfroze them. They rattled the bars for several minutes before conceding they were effectively imprisoned; then they were ready to listen to Stile.

"Know, ogres, that I am the Blue Adept," Stile said. "This is my Lady Blue. Why did the five of you attack her?"

"Blue be now our enemy," one repeated.

"The Oracle told thee that?"

"Told Brogbt."

"Who is Brogbt?"

The ogre pointed to one of the dead monsters.

"Then must I make the dead to speak," Stile said grimly. He pondered, working out a spell, then sang: "Ogre Brogbt, under my spell, the true message do thou tell."

The dead ogre stirred. Flies buzzed up angrily. Its rigor-stiffened mouth cracked open. "Blue be not thine enemy," it croaked, and lay still again.

"Not!" the Lady exclaimed. "It said not!"

Both living ogres seemed surprised. "Brogbt told us now."

"He thought the word was now. He was enchanted, and heard or remembered it wrong. I am not thine enemy. Now thou knowest."

"Now I know," the ogre agreed, adapting dully to this new reality.

Stile eliminated their cage. "Go inform thy kind of the truth."

They stomped away.

"Thou art as ever generous in victory," the Lady said.

"Now for the unicorn." Stile made a spell that set Clip's hoofprints glowing, and they followed these. The trail led over a hill to a copse of evergreens and entered the dense forest island.

"Where are the mare's prints?" the Lady asked.

Stile sang a new spell to make those also glow, but evoked nothing.

"She was mere illusion," the Lady said. "A sending to distract him so the ogres could get to me. This surely means mischief. Had Trool not interfered-"

Stile made another spell. "Make an image, make it sooth, of the unicorn, of the truth."

The image formed, like a holograph, three-dimensional.

Clip walked beside a phantom. The unreal mare led him into the copse — and there a flash occurred, and the unicorn was gone.

"Destroyed?" the Lady cried, appalled.

"I think not," Stile said grimly. He tried a spell to locate Clip specifically, but it fizzled. "This is Adept magic. I can not fathom the truth beyond this point, for it is Adept against Adept. But the message seems likely enough. Clip has been taken hostage."

"Hostage!" she exclaimed. "For what?"

"For my behavior. My secret enemy can not match my power directly, so he has resorted to another device. I must bargain with him for Clip's life."

"But what does that Adept want?"

"It seems I am to be involved in great events in the near future. Mine enemies know this, my friends know too. Everybody knows this except me. What mine enemy wants will surely be made known in good time."

"But no one can influence thee by such means!"

"Oh, yes, he can!" Stile scowled, feeling an elemental savagery. "He can evoke my vengeance against him for whatever he does to Clip. He can make me an enemy for life. Now he is attacking my wife and steed in lieu of me, seeking leverage. Not without consequence may Blue be thus used."

She smiled sadly. "The honeymoon is over."

Soberly, he nodded. "I must report to the Herd Stallion."

"And I–I shall be left behind again."

"Thou knowest I love thee, Lady. But there are things I must do."

"I would not change thy nature if I could, my love."

Abruptly, savagely, they kissed, their horror of the situation converting to passion. Then Stile spelled them to the unicorn herd.

They arrived at the edge of the pasture where the unicorns grazed. The great Herd Stallion looked up. He stood eighteen hands at the shoulder, or six feet, and was powerfully muscled. His torso was pearly gray, darkening into black hooves; his mane and tail were silver, and his head golden. He was the most magnificent equine Stile knew.

Perceiving Stile's mien, the Stallion converted immediately

to man-form and approached. "Speak without waste, Adept."

"Clip has been taken hostage," Stile said. Then he choked and could not continue.

"Do thou go see Neysa," the Lady Blue told him gently. "I will give the Stallion the detail."

Gratefully, Stile walked through the herd, looking for his closest friend in Fhaze. In a moment Neysa came to him. She was fit and sleek, showing as yet no sign of her gravid condition. She had only very recently been bred, and equines did not show the way humans did. She accepted his embrace, shifting momentarily to girl-form in his arms, in the mischievous way she had. Then she shifted back.

"Oh, Neysa," he said, feeling the tears on his face. "I fear I have placed your brother in dire straits."

She tensed, blowing a harmonica-note of alarm. She loved her brother.

"I was in Proton-frame," he stumbled on. "Ogres attacked the Lady Blue. Clip fought valiantly, protecting her, and killed two ogres. But an Adept sent a sending of the mare called Belle, who won thine event in the Unolympics, and lured him into captivity, surely hostage against my power. And I–I can not accept what that enemy may demand of me, though Clip is-" The tears were flowing freely now, dropping from his chin. "I should have been there!" And perhaps, if he had checked Clip's situation first, instead of last, he might have been in time to nullify the abduction. He had just assumed that Clip was near.

Neysa laid her warm horn against his cheek, suffering silently with him, forgiving him. She understood.

They walked together back to the Herd Stallion. The noble creature was again in his natural form and had evidently assimilated the Lady's story. He was stomping the turf with one forehoof, making sparks fly up, and steam was issuing from his nostrils.

When Stile rejoined him, the Stallion changed again to man-form, a wisp of steam still showing in his breath. "Thou art not at fault, Adept," he said. "Clip was there to help and protect thee, not thou him."

"Protect me he did," Stile said. "I owe him my life. But he lost his freedom protecting not me but my Lady. I must restore him to freedom and avenge what he is suffering."

"He is of my herd," the Stallion said. "Ultimately, vengeance is mine. But thou art welcome to free him if thou canst."

"First must I locate him," Stile said. "And, if thou canst permit it, I would take another unicorn as temporary steed. The forces ranged against me, for whatever reason, are more than I can safely cope with alone, and no horse suffices. I need the kind of service only a unicorn can give."

The Stallion hesitated. Neysa blew a faint note on her harmonica-horn, half pleading, half warning. She was subject to the Herd Stallion, but friend to the Blue Adept — and to many others. She was close blood kin to Clip. She wanted to be Stile's steed again, despite her condition. The Stallion could say nay or yea and would be obeyed — but his life would be simplified if he placated this spirited little mare. Stile had a certain sympathy for the Herd Stallion's predicament.

"I will provide thee with another unicorn," the Stallion decided. "Thou art held in unusual respect in this herd, Adept; a number of these would do for thee what they would not do for any ordinary man. Yet may I not compel any in this matter; give me time to seek a volunteer."

The Stallion seemed less urgent about this than Stile felt, and was obliquely refusing Neysa's offer. Yet it was a sensible course. "It will take time to locate Clip and prepare a campaign to recover him without injury," Stile said. "Adept magic is involved, making the matter devious, not subject to simple spells. I do not relish his captivity for even another hour, but it would be foolish to strike unprepared. Will a day and a night suffice? I do have business in the other frame."

"It will suffice," the Stallion agreed. "I shall query the animals of other kinds and send to the Oracle."

The Oracle! Of course! That would pinpoint Clip instantly — if the answer were not misunderstood. Except — what about the speculation the Translucent Adept had

made about the Oracle? Maybe he should be careful of any advice received, without openly challenging its validity.

Stile turned to the Lady Blue. "Now must I return thee to the Blue Demesnes for safekeeping."

Again Neysa protested. The Herd Stallion, shifting to natural form, blew an accordion-chord of irritated acquiescence.

"I have been invited to visit with the Herd during thine absence," the Lady said. "I can be better guarded here, for no magic penetrates a herd on guard. By thy leave, my Lord-"

"I will make thee a pavilion," Stile said, pleased. She would be much safer here, certainly.

"I need it not, my Lord."

Stile nodded. The Lady Blue was no frail flower; she could survive well enough. "Then shall I-"

He paused, and the unicorns looked up from their grazing. A dragon was approaching — a huge flying creature, swooping up and down, evidently searching for something. It spied the herd and flew directly toward it.

Immediately the unicorns formed a circle, horns pointing out. In the center were the foals and aged individuals — and Neysa, specially protected during her gestation. The Herd Stallion stood outside, flanked by several of the strongest of the lesser males, facing the monster alertly.

"I can deal with this," Stile offered. He had a number of spells to bring down dragons.

But the dragon was not attacking. It was a steed, with an old woman holding the reins, perched between the great beating wings. She carried a white kerchief that she waved in her left hand.

"Flag of truce," Stile said. Then, with a double take: "That's the Yellow Adept!"

The Herd Stallion snorted angrily. He would honor the truce, but he had no love for the Yellow Adept, whose business it was to trap and sell animals, including unicorns.

The dragon landed with a bump that made its passenger bounce, then folded its wings. The old woman scrambled down. "I bear a message for Blue. It must be quick, for my potion can not hold this monster long."

Stile stepped forward, still surprised. Usually this witch only went out in public after taking a youth potion for cosmetic effect. What message could cause her to scramble like this? "I am here, Yellow."

"It is in the form of a package, my handsome," she said, handing him a long box that appeared from her shawl. Stile suddenly became conscious of his own apparel: the outfit of a Proton Citizen. In the rush of events he had not bothered to conjure Phaze clothing. But it hardly mattered; an Adept, like a Citizen, could wear what he pleased. "I want thee to know I had no hand in this particular mischief. The item was delivered by conjuration with the message: Blue butt out. I hastened to bring it to thee, fearing further malice against thee an I delayed. My potions indicate that more than one Adept participates in this."

She hurried back to her dragon-steed before Stile could open the package. "Wait, Yellow — I may wish to question thee about this!" Stile called. Something about the package gave him an extremely ugly premonition.

"I dare not stay," she called back. "I would help thee if I could, Blue, for thou art a bonny lad. But I can not." She spurred her dragon forward. The creature spread its wings and taxied along on six little legs, finally getting up to takeoff velocity. Once it was airborne, it was much more graceful. Soon it was flying high and away.

Stile unwrapped the package with a certain misgiving. It surely did not contain anything he would be glad to see. Probably it was from Clip's captor; some evidence that the unicorn was indeed hostage, such as a hank of his blue mane.

As the package unwrapped, two red socks fell out. Clip's socks, which could be magically removed and used separately, in the same manner as Neysa's white socks. But there was something else in the package. Stile unwrapped it — and froze, appalled. All the others stared, not at first believing it.

It was a severed unicorn horn.

Stile's hands began to shake. He heard the Lady Blue's quick intake of breath. Neysa blew a note of purest agony.

Slowly Stile lifted the horn to his mouth. He blew into the hollow base. The sound of an ill-played saxophone emerged. It was definitely Clip's horn.

Neysa fell to the ground as if stricken by lightning. The Lady Blue dropped down beside her, putting her arms about the unicorn's neck in a futile attempt to console her. Stile stood stiffly, his mind half numbed by the horror of it. To a unicorn, the horn was everything, the mark that distinguished him from the mere horse.

More than that, he realized, the horn was the seat of the unicorn's magic. Without it, Clip could not change form or resist hostile spells. He would be like a man blinded and castrated — alive without joy. There could be no worse punishment.

The Herd Stallion was back in man-form. He put forth his large hand to take the horn. His eyes were blazing like the windows of a furnace, and steam was rising from him. "They dare!" he rasped, staring at the member.

"For this will I visit a conflagration on the Demesnes of every Adept involved!" Stile said, finding his voice at last. "On every creature who cooperated. I will level mountains to get at them. What the Blue Adept did to the trolls and jackals shall be as nothing." Already the air was becoming charged with the force of his developing oath; dark coils of fog were swirling. "Only let me make my music, find my rhyme-"

"Nay, Adept," the Herd Stallion said gruffly. "He is of my herd. Not thine but mine is this vengeance."

"But thou canst not leave thy herd unguarded," Stile protested.

"Another Stallion will assist, for this occasion."

"And thou canst not face Adepts alone. Only an Adept can oppose an Adept."

The Stallion snorted smoke from his human nostrils, heeding Stile's caution through his fury. "True. Not alone can I accomplish it. Only half the vengeance is mine to claim."

"Just give me a steed, and I will-"

"I will be thy steed!" the Stallion said.

Neysa, on the ground, perked up her ears. The Lady

Blue's eyes widened as she recognized the possibilities. No human being had ever ridden a Herd Stallion, virtually a breed apart. Yet if the power of an Adept coordinated with that of a unicorn Stallion-

Stile could not decline. They shared a vengeance.