Yesterday's Kings (28 page)

Cullyn said, “We’d best decide what to do.”

The jangle of armor drew closer. He could see shapes now, moving through the forest. His hunter’s eyes began to pick out distinctions. Per Fendur and Amadis were in the lead, moving slowly but nonetheless inexorably toward him. And still the wall of unicorns stood before; and the valley’s edge dropped steeply away, decked along all its flanks with trees and undergrowth that would inevitably slow their progress should they seek to skirt around. He believed that he could escape, mounted on Fey, but Laurens was wounded and Eben’s mule could never match the pace of the Kandarian horses. It seemed they must be caught.

And then a pack of hounds exploded from the woodlands containing the farther edge of the valley. Cullyn had never seen such dogs. They were akin to wolfhounds, but heavier, more muscular, and taller. And they ran silently until they drew close to the herd of unicorns, and
only then set to baying so that the horned horses turned to face them and drew their attention away from the three intruders.

Cullyn watched in fascination as the hounds raced toward the white equines. They did not attack, but rather set to herding the mythical beasts, baying and snapping, so that the unicorns were directed to the north. He watched the horns thrust and the dogs dart away, never drawing quite close enough that horn or hoof could inflict damage. He heard Eben mutter, not knowing whether the wizard gave thanks or curses. But the unicorns were driven away, so he said: “Do we cross the valley now?”

Eben looked back. “It’s likely our only chance. So, yes.”

They went down the steep flank and were onto the gentler slopes as Per Fendur led his troop out from the trees. The priest shouted and urged his mount to a gallop. Amadis couched his lance and beckoned the troop to follow.

They raced down the valley, and from out of the forest on the farther side there came a hunting party.

There was, as best Cullyn could estimate, ten of them, armed with lances and bows. Their leader was a slender boy, who carried only a bow and a long knife. They wore such dress as did Lofantyl—motley tunics and breeches, high boots of soft leather, some caps that hid their hair.

The boy-leader saw the three approaching riders and shouted something Cullyn could not hear. But he heard Eben’s foul curse.

A rider raised a horn to his lips and blew a long call that brought the hounds back, off from the unicorns—which promptly swung around and set to chasing the dogs. And all became confusion.

Per Fendur halted his charge; the fey folk grouped together, staring at the newcomers; Cullyn, Laurens, and Eben galloped toward them. The boy shouted something and the fey riders spread out, nocking arrows and lowering lances. The unicorns, driven by the baying hounds, charged onward as if they’d run down the fey folk. Cullyn wondered whether the lances and the readied arrows were directed at the horned horses or at them.

Then Per Fendur raised his hands and mouthed a spell that sent a ball of bright fire hurtling after the escapees. Cullyn yelled a warning and Eben swung his mule aside and raised his own hands. The fireball swung away, exploding amongst the hunting party. There was a tremendous glow—as if the sun fell to earth—and a stench of burning that was accompanied by the screams of torched horses and men.

Eben mouthed a fouler curse. “He’s even more power than I thought.”

“I thought you knew Church magic,” Laurens gasped as the air filled with the stench of burning flesh.

“As did I. But I underestimated him.” Eben raised his hands and wove patterns in the air. “And this is no place for Kandarian magic.”

He shouted, and it was as if a gust of tremendous wind erupted from his mouth, blowing back Per Fendur’s firestorm as might a rain squall douse a blaze.

Per Fendur shouted and urged his followers on. The unicorns swung away from the explosion, and the hounds—those that did not halt, stunned—went after them. Cullyn saw the boy tumble from his mount, into the path of the panicked unicorns. There were men fallen around him, and the fey horses fretted—those still standing—unnerved by the smell of scorched flesh.

Cullyn did not think then, only reacted. He saw Eben mouthing words he could not hear and raising his
hands again as Per Fendur sent a second fireball scorching through the air, and Amadis couched his lance and charged headlong down the slope with all the troops behind. And the unicorns thundered toward the dismounted boy with lowered horns, the stallion in the lead.

Cullyn heeled Fey to a charge, hoping to intercept the unicorns’ attack. Fey was big enough he might deflect the white horse’s attack—smash the stallion aside before the spiral horn pierced the fallen boy. Perhaps Cullyn might lift him up and carry him away from the hoofs and horns. Or not; but he felt no choice and drew his knife—his only weapon.

And then he saw the boy rise and snatch off his cap, and it was not a boy but a young woman, whose hair fell free as sunlight, flaxen and long. And she stood upright as the unicorn charged, and raised her arms and waited, as if welcoming her death. Cullyn urged Fey to an even faster pace.

But the unicorn slowed its gallop, reared up, then came to the woman at a walk. Cullyn reined Fey in, gaping in amazement as the white horned horse knelt before the girl, who stroked its horn and spoke to it, and then looked irritably at Cullyn.

“Who are you?”

He gave her his name as the unicorn rose and tossed its head, urging her to stroke its mane.

“And what do you here?”

“Escape,” he said, still amazed. “My friends and I …”

“From them?” She jutted her chin in the direction of Per Fendur. “Those who spoiled my hunt?”

Cullyn nodded.

“Garm’kes Lyn,” she said. “Like you.”

Cullyn nodded again.

“Why do you not leave us alone?” She stroked the
unicorn as she spoke absently. “Why do you come across the Mys’enh?”

“We had little choice,” he answered. “The priest would torture us, and slay us. So Eben brought us across the river.”

“Eben?” He saw gray eyes set in a wide face above a large-lipped mouth open in surprise. He had thought Elvira pretty and Abra beautiful, but this fey woman was … He could not describe it. “You came here with Eben?”

“And Laurens, who’s wounded.” He looked to his companions. They were halted amongst the fey folk, Eben tending those hurt by Per Fendur’s fireball.

“And chased by a Garm priest?”

Cullyn nodded, glancing back nervously to where Per Fendur and Amadis waited with their lance men. They had halted now and there seemed a kind of stalemate. Both parties stared at one another as the dogs sat panting and growling and the unicorns stood stamping warily.

Then: “I am Lyandra of the Dur’em Zheit.”

“I am Cullyn of Kandar.”

“And you came to my aid—even though I didn’t need it.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said. “Eben told me unicorns are vicious. Unless …” He broke off in embarrassment.

“I am,” she said, staring at him defiantly. “I can command unicorns. The stallions, at least. They’re fun to hunt—even if we don’t kill them, they give us a good run. And the mares would horn me without a thought.”

She turned to the stallion and whispered in its ear. It rose and trotted away, shrilling a call that gathered the herd. Lyandra shouted to her followers; she had a surprisingly loud voice, that saw all her surviving men mounted and readied for attack as the unicorn stallion gathered his herd and faced Per Fendur’s men.

“I do not like you Garm,” she said, “but even so, I think I like this priest less. So shall we drive him off?”

Her smile was like the sun rising. Cullyn offered her a hand and swung her behind him on the saddle. She shouted orders at her followers and a line of men and unicorns loped toward Per Fendur and Amadis.

It was pleasant to feel her hands about his waist. Better to see Per Fendur retreat as unicorns and armed folk charged toward them. Arrows flew over the cresting horns, and more than a few of the Kandarians were plucked by the shafts. He saw Per Fendur wave a hand, indicating retreat, as the wave of white horned horses charged toward him, followed by the Durrym, whose bows kept up a steady wave of arrows. He looked about and saw Laurens and Eben riding with them, albeit slower, as they drove Per Fendur and Amadis and all their troops back to the treeline, back over the ridge, and then toward the Alagordar.

More than one soldier was plucked from his horse by the unicorns, more still shafted by Durrym arrows as the great dogs snapped and bayed about the horses’ heels. Then Lyandra raised a silver horn from her belt and blew a long, shrill call. The unicorns and the men ceased their pursuit and returned to the valley. The hounds went on baying as Cullyn halted Fey on the ridge.

“The dogs shall chase them off,” Lyandra declared. “So you’re safe for now—if you explain properly why you came here with Eben.”

He looked down at her and said, “We came after Abra.”

“The Garm who was taken by Lofantyl?”

Cullyn nodded and Lyandra threw back her head and laughed. Then called for a horse. “This,” she said, grinning, “will fascinate my father.” She swung astride the
saddle. “I must take you to meet him. You and Eben, both.”

Cullyn was not sure what to make of her glee until they rode down the slope to where Eben and Laurens waited, escorted by two of Lyandra’s men.

Eben turned to Laurens and said, “As you told it—from frying pan to fire. And all because he’s syn’qui.”

“Syn’qui?” Lyandra’s gray eyes darted from Eben to Cullyn.

The wizard shrugged and ducked his head. “Indeed—for my misfortune. Better I’d never met him, but—”

“Were he not, you’d likely be dead now.”

Eben shrugged again. “Then perhaps he keeps me alive.”

“Thus far,” Lyandra answered. “But my father shall decide.”

“Pyris still rules?”

“Pyris is Vashinu of Ky’atha Hall.”

“And you still vie with the Shahn?”

Lyandra chuckled, staring at the wizard as if he were mad. “What else? It’s the way of the world, no?”

“There’s the notion of peace,” Eben said. “Of concord and agreement.”

Lyandra studied him with a scornful gaze. “Such as you Garm delivered us? Was that concord and agreement when you drove us from our homeland?”

“No,” Eben allowed, “but not of our making.” He gestured at Cullyn and Laurens. “We come only as fugitives, dependent on your mercy.”

“That,” Lyandra said, “shall be decided by my father.”

“So be it,” Eben returned. “Your father is, after all, a fair and just man.”

“Who can also be cruel,” she said ominously. “When it suits him.”

Eben’s ancient face creased into even deeper lines. “I’ve no argument with the Dur’em Zheit. Indeed, not with anyone—save that cursed priest who’s disturbed my life, because …”—he glanced at Cullyn—“he’s syn’qui.”

She looked at him and said, “Are you sure?”

Eben nodded. “I’d not be here if I didn’t believe it.”

“Save he’s told me his story, and it sounds like you ran from the Garm lands as outlaws.”

“Yes,” Eben declared. “But how else did the priest find us here? Would he not have been turned back? The lad’s a compass; destiny’s compass.”

“There’s that,” Lyandra allowed. “It’s surely strange that they could come so far into our country.”

“As did we.” Eben waved a hand at Cullyn and Laurens. “Is that not also strange?”

“You know the ways,” she said.

“Yes, I do,” Eben agreed. “But with two full-blooded Garm? Your magic should have turned us away, and Per Fendur, also. But it didn’t. What does that tell you?”

Lyandra shrugged. “I don’t know.” She studied Cullyn. “Best we speak with my father.”

The dogs came back then, panting, and gathered about Cullyn as if he were an old friend. Lyandra stared at them, and at Cullyn, and sighed.

“I should slay you now,” she said. “I wonder if that were not the best way—the simplest.”

“Then order it,” Eben said. “You’ve enough men left.”

Lyandra shook her head again, setting long blond curls to tumbling, and said, “No. We shall go to my hall and talk with my father. Then your fate shall be decided.”

Eben grinned.

Cullyn stared at him, wondering what deal had been made that he did not properly understand.

But the surviving Durrym saw them mounted and led them off to Ky’atha Hall.

I
T WAS A LENGTHY TREK
, across the valley and into the wooded ridges beyond, where they continued through dense, impossible forest. It seemed to Cullyn that the landscape was simultaneously natural and sculpted: one ridge might be clad with great oaks, the next with beeches, and in the bottoms between grew hazels and birches, with willows and alders along the streams, as if all the trees in the world had been set down in random profusion. There were looming pines and great maples, spruces and hickories. It was a fantastical landscape that was populated by no less fantastical beasts. Some few he’d seen before, but now he saw more watching from the treeline or rushing from their path. He saw creatures that aped the shape of man, but swung from tree to tree, and things that resembled squirrels, but large as the hounds that ran before the party. He saw wild pigs the size of cattle, and a massive snake that raised a head big as his own to hiss a warning before it slithered like a receding river into the undergrowth.