Dhiammara

14 Master of the Unicorn

After a sleepless night, Jarvas, now seriously worried, left Benziorn in charge of his sanctuary on the quayside and went out into the city to search for Grince. The thief had not returned last night, and Jarvas feared the worst. He alone had known what Grince had been planning—and he blamed himself for having failed to dissuade the lad from such insanity. He should have knocked him out or locked him up—even if Grince had never forgiven him for the lost opportunity, it would have been better than letting the idiot suffer the consequences of trying to steal from Lord Pendral.

Jarvas had felt responsible for Grince ever since he had caught him—a wild, scruffy fourteen-year-old ruffian in those days—trying to rob the sanctuary one night. Lord Vannor, before he had vanished on that insane expedition to attack the Phaerie, had brought prosperity back to the city, resulting in the reopening of the Grand Arcade, and because the newly staffed Garrison had been so successful in controlling the city’s petty crime in those days, the boy had lost his home and his livelihood, and fallen on hard times. He had been raiding Jarvas’s refuge not for himself, but in a desperate attempt to get food for his dog.

Until he saw Warrior, and recognized the animal as one of the distinctive offspring of Emmie’s dog, Storm, Jarvas had not realized that his burglar was Tilda’s son. He and Benziorn had been certain that the boy had perished in the initial destruction of the refuge, and he was aghast to discover that Grince had been living as a criminal in the city ever since. For the last half-dozen years or so, Jarvas had tried to take a father’s place for the young orphan, but since the lad had never had anyone to depend upon, even when Tilda was alive, he remained as wary and untrusting as a wild animal, refusing to respond either to authority or kindness. Emmie might have been able to win him over, but she had remained with the smugglers and married Yanis, the Nightrunner leader, taking over most of the domestic running of the secret underground complex from an increasingly frail Remana. She was happy, he heard, but had not been back to Nexis in years. Jarvas had never told her that the lad had turned up again—she had enough on her plate these days, and had probably forgotten all about him in any case.

As the years passed, Grince had refused to mend his ways and settle down to learn a trade, as Jarvas had suggested. Nothing had cured him of his habit of stealing—neither cajolery nor punishment. When Jarvas, out of pure desperation, had eventually tried taking a stick to him, Grince had simply started disappearing for weeks at a time, only coming back when he had some pressing need—usually for Warrior’s sake rather than his own—that only Jarvas and his refuge could supply. At heart, he was not a bad lad—had he been sunk in villainy or vice, it would have been easy for Jarvas to wash his hands of the entire problem. But surprisingly, given his background, there wasn’t a vicious bone in Grince’s body. Thievery was simply a way of life to him—and sadly, he was proud of his skill and the independence it gave him.

Though Jarvas had been determined to shoulder the additional burden of responsibility for the difficult boy, it was Grince’s intense hatred of authority that caused him the deepest concern. The makeshift home in the Grand Arcade had represented the only security the lad had ever known, and he blamed the High Lord for its loss. When Lord Pendral had taken power following Vannor’s disappearance, he had instituted severe penalties for stealing which put Grince into constant peril. Jarvas sighed. The thief was taking risks that increased with time—and in a city the size of Nexis, it had been inevitable that he would eventually be caught.

That was not the worst of it, however. Something had happened last year to fan Grince’s hatred into a deadly blaze. Pendral’s troops had killed the white dog, Warrior. A patrol had recognized the thief and given chase, and Warrior, ten years old now, had not been able to run fast enough to escape. Before Grince could rush back to help, a soldier, enraged at the escape of his true prey, had put an arrow through the fleeing dog…

For a time Jarvas had despaired of Grince’s life. He had been stunned by grief, unwilling to talk, refusing to eat, unable to sleep. Warrior had been everything to him—family, companion, protector, and friend. For days he had remained in his little cubicle in the refuge dormitory, sitting on the bed and staring at the thin partition with unseeing eyes. Jarvas, watching him with increasing concern, never saw him weep. About eight days after Warrior’s death, the boy vanished into the night. A worried Jarvas was organizing searchers when Grince returned with the dawn, a boy no longer. There was blood on his hands and a bleak, cold, adult look in his eyes that had not been there before. Nonetheless, he had thrown himself into Jarvas’s arms and sobbed like a brokenhearted child. He would never talk about where he had been, but no one was surprised when the reports came in of a soldier who’d been found in a lonely alley with his throat cut.

From that day onward, Jarvas saw a change in Grince’s personality. Though he was still the same amiable, rather shy to to his cronies at the refuge, he smiled rarely, and never laughed at all. He became more furtive and secretive in his doings. His stealing, which he had once treated in the light-hearted spirit of a game, suddenly turned into a deadly serious business. Grince was playing for higher stakes now—whereas previously he had contented himself with food and clothing, and small amounts of money to buy his needs, he was now stealing gold and jewels, and raiding the cashboxes of the fat, wealthy merchants to spirit away a month’s profit at a time. At first, Jarvas had decided that he must be amassing a hoard, to buy himself—what? Companionship?—Security? Escape from the rootless life of poverty that was his lot? Now, though, it had become clear that Grince had extended the scope of his operations for another purpose. He had been rehearsing last night’s job.—Pendral had deprived the thief of what he loved best in the world, and ever since that day, Grince had been planning his revenge on the High Lord of Nexis.

A shiver ran through Jarvas’s bony frame. Poor Grince! He might have his faults, it was true, and he had certainly been in the wrong to steal those jewels, but the danger into which he’d put himself made the big man’s heart quail. Petty criminals might be flogged, or set to work for a number of days or months with the gangs of laborers who were gradually rebuilding the damaged areas of the city. For such a serious crime as stealing from Lord Pendral, however, there could be only one penalty. Tomorrow, if he had been arrested, they would cut off Grince’s hands.

By the time he finally reached the top of the Long Stairs, the muscles in Jarvas’s calves were beginning to knot in cramp, and his face was running with sweat. He was badly out of breath, but there was no time to stop and recover.—With every passing minute he had grown increasingly certain that Grince had been caught. Each morning, the names of the miscreants who had been arrested the previous day were posted on the gates of the Garrison, and though he dreaded the tidings he was about to receive, it was better to know at once—though his knowing would make little difference to the thief, who would be doomed in any case. Jarvas sighed and braced himself. Turning right, he left the steps and made his way toward the Garrison as fast as his aching legs would carry him.

The postings went up at dawn, with those who’d been arrested the previous day listed in order of the severity of their crimes—and with the consequent penalties they would suffer. A small knot of people were already clustered in front of the great, arched Garrison gates. Some wept silently, while others cursed and shouted abuse, from a safe distance, at the two stone-faced sentries who stood there on guard duty. Now that he was finally here, Jarvas felt an uneasy reluctance to go any further. Cursing himself for a coward, he gritted his teeth and began to shoulder his way through the crowd, toward the ominous square of white that was pinned to the heavy timbers.

There were not many names that day—a number of floggings and one execution, for tomorrow’s dawn. Jarvas sagged with relief and felt his weary knees begin to buckle. Groping like a blind man, he pushed his way back out of the crowd.—Suddenly feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he stumbled down the street toward the Invisible Unicorn. Had his legs been working properly, he felt as though he might have danced.

When Jarvas arrived at the tavern, once so rough, rundown, and grimy, he was impressed, as always, by its current look of cleanliness and prosperity, with its sparkling windows, gleaming paintwork, and new shutters. The taproom, once so rough and dingy, was a haven of cleanliness and comfort, and a gleaming new wooden counter that stretched across the far side of the room. Behind the counter, in the host’s position and radiating contentment and prosperity, stood Hargorn.

The taproom was already beginning to fill with the regular, early-morning customers who came for breakfast—mostly traders and laborers from the city, and the occasional Garrison soldier just off the night watch. Nowadays, the Unicorn had become one of the most popular inns in the city. Despite his advancing years, Hargorn maintained a reputation as a man who could take care of both himself and his premises. After the vanishment of the Magefolk, the veteran had decided to retire from military life, and had taken on the tavern in partnership with—of all unlikely people—Vannor’s old cook Hebba.—When Lord Vannor had returned to the city following the disappearance of the Mages, his cook had come with him—but not to stay. She had hatched a plan with Hargorn when the veteran had forsworn the sword, and with generous assistance from Vannor they had purchased the Unicorn. In its finer days it had been the favorite haunt of the troopers—Hargorn in particular—but following the depredations and shortages of Miathan’s rule the tavern near the Garrison had become badly run-down. In the hands of its-new owners, however, the business had soon begun to flourish once more.

Hargorn and Hebba made an odd combination—particularly to those who knew the couple well. How would the practical, laconic, imperturbable soldier ever manage to put up with the vapors, panics, and incessant chatter of the rotund little cook? How could such a fussy, house-proud woman ever stand for his rough soldier’s ways, learned during a lifetime spent in barracks and camps?—But though it was only a business partnership it had gone from strength to strength.

Word soon got around the citizens of Nexis that they would find the warmest of welcomes at the Unicorn. Hargorn had been a well-respected and popular soldier at the Garrison. He was easy to get along with—and one way and another he had been specializing in ale for most of his life. He was qualified in every respect to be the host of an alehouse—right down to his ability to deal with any trouble that might arise.

Hebba had turned the tavern’s interior into a haven of homely comfort, with sparkling brass lamps replacing the dim rushlights of former days, and the scarred old tables polished each day to a blinding sheen. Not only that, but she believed in mothering her customers—which included feeding them. The meals that she served had become a legend throughout the city.

Hargorn had been a good friend to Jarvas over these last difficult years, and, in addition, his tavern was also a trading post of gossip and rumor, information and innuendo. If there had been any word of Grince at all, Jarvas knew he would find it here. Just as he was approaching the counter, however, Hebba came bolting out of the back room, in even more of a flutter than usual—and pale as if she’d seen a ghost. Grabbing Hargorn’s arm in a viselike grip, she reached up on tiptoe and whispered something in his ear.

Jarvas saw his friend’s expression alter from the usual look of long-suffering patience with which he greeted Hebba’s fussing. Hargorn blanched, and went absolutely rigid, swaying alarmingly on his feet as though he had received a blow. For a dreadful moment, Jarvas thought the older man was about to have some kind of seizure; then Hargorn seemed to collect himself all of a sudden.—His face split into the biggest grin that Jarvas had ever seen and he grabbed hold of Hebba, lifting her right off her feet and dancing her round in the confined space behind the bar, oblivious of her shrill protests and squeaks of alarm. The room rang with cheers, jeers, and catcalls as customers began to whistle and applaud. Hargorn, beaming all over his face, looked up and noticed his audience at last. “What are you lot all staring at?” he demanded belligerently, and there was a sudden clatter of knife on plate as the regulars turned back to their food with great industry and interest. The Unicorn was such a pleasant, homely place that no one wanted to get on the bad side of the landlord.

As Hargorn called a young woman who was wiping tables in a corner to come and take his place, Jarvas remembered why he had come here, and realized that he was about to lose his chance of speaking to the landlord. “Ho, Hargorn. Wait!” he shouted, rushing up to the counter. Hargorn, already vanishing into the back room, still with his arm around Hebba, half-turned with an impatient sigh. “Not now, Jarvas. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“But...”

“Not now, I said. Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait. Look, get Sallana to give you a drink, and Hebba will fetch you some breakfast. I’ll be back in a little while, I promise.”

“Plague take it, will you just listen for a minute. Grince has stolen Lord Pendral’s jewel collection and the guards are combing the city for him right now!”

Though the veteran’s grin faded a little, he looked completely unsurprised.

“Well, Jarvas, the way the daft beggar was acting, it was inevitable that something like this would happen sooner or later.”

“Curse you—is that all you can say? It was bound to happen sooner or later?”

Jarvas demanded angrily.

The grin returned to Hargorn’s face. “What I can say and what I can do are two different things. Stop scowling like that, man—your face is ugly enough without making it worse. Keep your mouth shut and come with me.”

Hargorn ushered Jarvas down a short corridor and into a cozy sitting room with comfortable, padded chairs and a bright fire crackling in the hearth. As Jarvas entered the room a tall figure pushed him aside, almost knocking him off his feet, and hurtled past him through the doorway to envelop the landlord in an enormous hug. He was even more surprised when Hargorn, who never stood for any trouble in his tavern, did not throw his assailant off the premises.—Then he noticed that the tall figure was a woman in warrior’s garb. And Hargorn—not usually known to his customers as an emotional, man—was hugging her and laughing and crying all at once.

“Gods, lass, but you’re a sight for sore eyes—I never thought I’d live to see this day! And Anvar too! You know, I had a wager of fifty silver pieces with Parric that you’d come back to us!” As he mentioned the Cavalrymaster, the joy in Hargorn’s face dimmed for a moment, and Aurian had not missed the way he had raked the room with his eyes on entering—in the hope, she suspected, of seeing Maya. But now Hargorn was pulling her toward the fire, without, as yet, giving her a chance to speak. “You look terrible, Aurian—terrible weary, I mean. Here—come and sit down, lovey. Rest before I start on you with all my questions. Let me get you some beer.”

Aurian didn’t protest as Hargorn led her to one of the deep chairs by the hearth. She stretched out her legs before the blaze, and closed her eyes. When her old friend thrust a deep, brimming tankard of ale into her hands, she felt as though she had just sailed through a hurricane and battled her way to a peaceful shore at last.

It was thanks to Grince that they had managed to get here at all. With Finbarr still confused and disoriented, and both the Mage and Forral suffering in their different ways from Aurian’s attack on the soldiers, the thief had taken charge. He had brought them out of the Academy and into the city, using the sewers as far as they were passable, and then using one of his own secret routes via little-used tunnels and byways, taking occasional shortcuts through backyards and derelict houses. Shia and Khanu had accompanied their human friends by a tortuous but less conspicuous route over rooftops and along the tops of walls. After the precipitous slopes of Steelclaw, they found human structures little challenge to their climbing prowess. Without drawing attention to themselves, the companions had approached the Unicorn through the alleyway at the rear, and entered at the back door, practically terrifying Hebba out of her wits.

Aurian took a deep swig of Hargorn’s excellent ale. On the other side of the room she could hear Grince greeting the ugly man who had come in search of him, and Forral trying to convince his old friend that despite appearances, he was truly not Anvar. The Mage was content to leave them to it and snatch a few blessed moments of peace, for she was weary indeed, and racked by guilt over her use of magic to slay Pendral’s soldiers. The act of violence had contravened everything she had been brought up to believe—and worse, it was the action of a Miathan or an Eliseth, but not herself. Yet this was not the first time she had used her magic to kill a helpless Mortal—well she remembered her voyage to the South, and her slaying of the men who had tried to slaughter the Leviathan. Yet it could not be helped, either this time or the last.

Aurian knew, however, that there would be a penalty to pay. A prickle of unease ran through her. Last time, on the ship, she had given her position away to Miathan and he had sent his storm with devastating effect. What would happen this time, she didn’t dare imagine. She could only wait and worry—and pray that those she loved would not be the ones to suffer for her deed.—Out of the whole sorry business, it was Forral’s attitude that caused Aurian most distress. You’d think that as a soldier he, of all people, would have understood the necessity, the Mage thought bitterly. What gives him the right to judge?

“He has never seen you wield such power.” The voice that entered Aurian’s thoughts belonged to Shia. “You tended to keep your magic apart from your life with him—except once. . . .” The cat sounded puzzled. “He’s remembering something about you and rain—and for some reason he was angry with you then, too. But he is angry with himself more than with you, because while he knows in his heart that you did what you must, your power makes him afraid.” The cat laid back her ears in disgust. “Humans! If I live to be older than Hreeza I’ll never understand them.”

“Just a minute,” Aurian looked at the great cat. “Shia, how do you know all this?”

Shia would not meet her eyes. “How do you think?” she said at last. “That man has stolen Anvar’s body—the physical form of a Mage. It still possesses Anvar’s powers—including the means to communicate with me. The fool has no idea of his new abilities, though—he doesn’t know how to shield his thoughts.—I’m surprised you haven’t heard them yourself....”

“What?” Aurian interrupted. “You’ve been eavesdropping?”

“Yes I have, and I don’t intend to stop, either,” said Shia unrepentantly. “I don’t trust him, Aurian—you might, but I do not.”

The Mage looked deep into the golden eyes of her friend, and knew it would be pointless to argue. Besides, who could say that Shia was not right?

“Aurian, where is Maya?” Hargorn’s voice interrupted her train of thought.—She looked across the room at the old warrior’s anxious face. “She came through the transition safe and well, but then the Phaerie took her and D’arvan—shortly after we returned to the world.” Aurian knew there was no point in hiding, or even trying to soften the truth.

Hargorn swallowed hard. “I’m going after her,” he said flatly. “First Parric and Vannor, and now Maya—I’m going to find the lair of those Phaerie vermin if it’s the last thing I do. Even if I fail, at least I’ll still be with my friends.”

The Mage laid a hand on his arm. “There’ll be time for that,” she said softly.

“The Lord of the Phaerie won’t harm D’arvan, and he’ll make sure that Maya is safe. If they don’t come back soon, I’ll be heading up there myself.” She scowled. “I have a thing or two to say to the Forest Lord.”

Even as Aurian spoke to Hargorn, she saw Hebba beckoning to her from the doorway. Though the woman’s sitting room was stuffed to capacity, Hebba herself had taken one horrified look at Shia and Khanu, and fled with a shriek into the sanctuary of her kitchen. Aurian, who had been close friends with Shia for so long that she intended to forget that first impressions of the cat could be terrifying, had been hoping that the woman would make herself useful while she was there by cooking some food and heating water for baths. Now she discovered that the kindly woman had been busy making her wishes come true.—Forral was discovering that his hopes for understanding from Hargorn were in vain. While Aurian was away bathing, he had taken his old friend aside and told him what the Mage had done in the tunnels beneath the Academy. Hargorn’s reaction came as a surprise.

“Well, you can say what you like, Forral, but I think you’re a bloody fool,” the veteran said bluntly. “Honest, I don’t know what you’re getting so upset about—you told her yourself there was no way any of those soldiers could be allowed to escape. Dead is dead—what’s the difference between Aurian dropping the roof on their heads and you running a sword through their guts?”

“Magic is the difference,” the swordsman insisted. “Don’t you see—those men had no chance to fight back? They never even knew what had happened to them.—Aurian is leading herself along a dangerous road with this business. Her actions were the very abuse of magical power that she herself is fighting against!”

“And don’t you think the poor lass knows that?” Hargorn retorted. “I could see it in her face—and knowing Aurian, it’ll take her far longer to forgive herself than it’ll take you to forgive her.” He sighed. “Forral, you’ve been away too long. I think you’ve built up some notion of a perfect Aurian that never existed. You know as well as I do that in war we all do things we’re not proud of, and you’ve forgotten that Aurian has been at war for a very long time now—a weird, inhuman war where there are no great battles, and most of the skirmishes go unseen by our Mortal eyes. I’m not excusing what she did—it’s a worrying development, I agree. But so long as she doesn’t start making a habit of it, I don’t think you should fret about it too much. I think she’s learned a lesson today.”

Forral opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say a word, Hargorn forestalled him. “No—now you listen to me, Forral. You tell me you’re disappointed in Aurian—how much more must she be disappointed in you? When she felt bad she knew she could always count on you, no matter what. You can’t just suddenly reappear and start judging her like this. She’s managed well enough without you for a long time now—or is that what’s really eating at you?”

The swordsman scowled. “Now, look here ...”

“No, you look. Instead of getting angry at me now, just think about it for a while. And for the Gods’ sake, and your own, make up your quarrel—if quarrel you can call it—with Aurian. She needs you, Forral, as she’s never needed you before, and you can keep her out of trouble far easier if the two of you are friends.”

Forral sighed. “I suppose you’re right, Hargorn. You old bugger—when did you become so wise and sensible?”

The veteran grinned. “Living with Dulsina, Vannor’s woman, if you must know. I got to know her when we were both with the rebels.” He shook his head sadly.

“It just about broke her when Vannor was taken by the Phaerie. Afterward, she came here to stay with Hebba and me for a while, but now she’s gone to the Nightrunners—that’s where she is now. Zanna is taking good care of her.”

To the Mage’s delight, the redoubtable Hebba had provided baths for those who wanted them, in a scullery behind the main kitchen where a blazing fire heated the water in the copper set into the side of the wide fireplace. Clean clothes that looked approximately the right size were folded in a pile on a chair nearby, and several towels were warming on the drying rack above the fireplace. Aurian, soaking in a hot tub with the cold tankard balanced on the rim, felt her heart beginning to warm to Hebba. The kindly woman had thought of everything, and the Mage was reminded, with a wistful pang, of Nereni. She wondered what Eliizar’s wife was doing now—and how she was enjoying the surprise gift that Aurian had left for her at their parting.

When the Mage came out of the scullery, still drying her hair, she found that Hargorn had managed to master his shock at seeing Forral in a different body.—He and the swordsman were deep in talk, and Aurian smiled to herself, touched by the quiet, undemonstrative pleasure they clearly found in each other’s company.

Forral looked up and saw her. Hargorn gave him a vicious dig with his elbow, and he held out his arms. “I’m sorry, lass, for blaming you so harshly,” he said simply. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Aurian went to him, but instead of embracing him, she stood back and took his hands in her own. Somehow she could scarcely bear to have Anvar’s arms around her when another soul looked out from behind his blue eyes. “Do you recall that first day we met, and you told me off for playing with fireballs in the wood? Do you remember what I said?”

The swordsman grinned. “Aye, you wretch—you said it was an emergency.”

“Well, it was an emergency today, too. I know it was wrong—I just couldn’t think of another way out of the situation.”

Forral sighed. “I know, lass. But don’t be tempted to do it again. Remember what happened to you the next time I caught you playing with fireballs.”

“Indeed!” Aurian snorted. “You’d have your work cut out to do that again!”

And, feeling lighter of heart, she suddenly embraced him after all. It had taken a while, but now she was getting used to the idea, she could admit to herself that she too was glad to have Forral back, though she still missed Anvar desperately. His absence was a constant, unalleviated ache inside, and she knew that the pain would never leave her until she could hold him in her arms once more. If only Forral could stay without sacrificing Anvar, Aurian thought with a sigh. There must be a way out of this dilemma—but I’m damned if I know what it could be.

“Listen, Grince.” Jarvas’s ugly face creased in a frown. “I want to talk about you in private, while everyone is distracted.”

Grince’s heart sank. While Jarvas was, at heart, a gentle soul, he had an uncertain temper and an uncompromising way of looking at the world. The thief wondered if his escapade the previous night had upset the big man, and if he would be going home tonight with more bruises to add to his collection.—Jarvas took the thief by the elbow and drew him into a quiet corner.

“Grince—I’ve known you since you were a lad, and frankly, it’s about time someone made you pull yourself together.” Jarvas was frowning, his ugly face furrowed in concern. “Frankly,” he went on, “I don’t blame you. Everybody round here knows what a bastard Lord Pendral is. I know what he did to you, and I understand why you’d want revenge. But don’t you understand what you’ve done? Pendral has his troop of armed bullies combing the city for the jewel thief, and even if you give the jewels back now, it won’t make any difference.—He’ll never rest until he tracks you down—and he’s bound to catch up with you sooner or later. You’ve put yourself in deadly danger, lad. I’m afraid you’ll have to disappear for a while—and fast.”

Grince stared at Jarvas in dismay. Bent on revenge as he was, he had never truly considered the repercussions of his action. What a fool he had been! He had dug his own grave last night, if word got back to Pendral.

Jarvas put a big, rough hand on the thief’s shoulder. “Don’t fret,” he said kindly. “We’ll get you out of this yet. Pendral’s men won’t come in here, so you’re safe enough for now.. ..”

“I can make arrangements to smuggle him out of Nexis,” Hargorn put in. He turned to the others. “And sorry though I’ll be to lose you so soon, I think you’d better go with Grince. Neither Eliseth nor Miathan are here, Aurian—you must seek them elsewhere. And with Pendral running the city, you’ll be better off away from here before you draw the wrong kind of attention. Jarvas is right: Pendral’s men won’t be in a hurry to search this place—in fact I doubt that they’ll search here at all. They value the Unicorn far too highly—it’s their haven away from the barracks. They won’t want to risk offending me.”

Grince felt the cold hand of fear close around him at the idea of leaving the city for the first time in his life. “But where can I go?” he protested. “How will I live?”

Hargorn grinned. “Don’t worry,” he said. “The Night-runners will take good care of you. They can probably use someone with your talents.”

Aurian was grinning. “You sly old fox! That’s where you get your spirits, isn’t it?”

Hargorn looked injured. “Of course it is! What do you take me for? Did you think I’d be daft enough to pay that bastard Pendral’s levies? What’s more, I have a consignment coming in this very night.”

Aurian’s heart had leapt at the mention of the Nightrunners. “Hargorn—what about Wolf? Have you seen him? Is he all right?”

The innkeeper’s expression clouded. “Parric told me about Wolf,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, Aurian, Forral. Wolf is not with the Nightrunners, I’m afraid. On the day you left for the Vale, the wolves that were guarding him vanished with the cub. No one has seen them since.”

For an instant, Aurian’s heart stopped beating. It felt as though the earth had opened up beneath her feet. “No,” she whispered.

Unseeing, she felt Forral take her hand. “It’s all right, love.” The Mage heard a catch in his voice. “We’ll find him, never fear. He’s a tough little lad by all accounts, and you got him safely through all the dangers that beset you when you were carrying him. You didn’t go through all that to lose him now.”

“You don’t understand,” Aurian cried. “His foster-parents were southern wolves, lost in a strange country and far from their pack. They had no territory of their own and no other wolves to help rear a cub. It’s likely that the native wolves would kill them—and Wolf along with them.”

Forral squeezed her hand so tightly that it seemed the bones would break. “Now listen,” he said firmly. “Likely isn’t certain, and I refuse to believe my son is dead until events prove otherwise. Remember, love—I told you, many years ago, to do the first thing first and the rest would follow?”

Without looking at him, Aurian nodded.

“Well, that’s what we’re going to do. First we’ll get to the bottom of what’s been happening in Nexis, then we’ll rescue Parric. Then we’ll find Wolf—and after that, we’ll deal with Eliseth and the grail. How does that sound?”

Aurian took courage from his words. She took a deep breath, and gave him a grateful smile. “When you put it like that, it sounds like a superb plan.”

Forral did not let go of her hand. “It will be all right, love,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve got to keep believing that. All the time I was haunting Death’s domain, I never saw anyone like Wolf pass through. It’s my guess he’s still alive—and so long as he’s alive we’ll find him, if we have to look behind every blade of grass from here to the northern ice.”

The Mage could not help but be cheered by the magnificent meal that Hebba had prepared, with soup, a roast goose, root vegetables, and greens, all washed down with peerless ale from Hargorn’s barrel. Everyone sat around the large kitchen table, save for the cats, who were in the nearby scullery making short work of a pig that had been slaughtered especially for them by the generous Hargorn.

After the first few mouthfuls, Hebba, who had begun the meal in a strained and watchful silence, with many dubious glances toward Hargorn’s unnerving collection of visitors, soon found herself beaming and blushing beneath a barrage of compliments. Aurian gave her wholehearted attention to the food on her plate. It seemed an endless age since she’d eaten a decent meal—and she hadn’t eaten one as good as this since Queen Raven’s coronation feast.—Finally, as Hebba was clearing the empty plates away, Hargorn filled their tankards with more or his excellent brew. “Now,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find you all some gear—clothes, blankets and the like, to tide you over. We can always talk during the journey.”

“What?” Aurian exclaimed in delight. “You’re coming with us?”

“Only as far as the Nightrunners,” he told her. “I have some folk there I want to see in any case, and I’ll probably escort Dulsina back here.” He looked significantly at Hebba, who was busy bustling back and forth, and laid a finger to his lips. Aurian realized, with a sinking heart, that the old warrior was thinking about picking up his sword once more. Hargorn had no intentions of returning to the Unicorn.