A Charm for a Unicorn (10 page)

Leonie hated questions; even simple ones like this one were fraught with hidden meaning. Was a wizard important? Yes, of course, but to say that they were the most important was ... diplomatic, she decided, catching Sir Wulfe's irritated stare.

"Why, yes, of course they are,” she stammered, wringing her hands in her lap.

Questions always put her in a panic, and Sir Wulfe wasn't finished, unfortunately. “And what, in your experienced opinion, is a magician's most important task?"

Leonie quailed. Another quiz. There were so many jobs a wizard had to do. Tending the sick seemed to her to be the most important occupation, but would Sir Wulfe agree? There were the chickens that wouldn't lay—a wizard was always handy to set that right. And sometimes crops needed magic to rid them of blight. Magicians also knew how to divine water and could find fresh springs. They predicted the weather, and could sometimes see glimpses of the future in their crystal balls. There were many mechanical jobs, too—her father was always inventing something to make life easier for the people in the villages. Why, just last winter he'd perfected a blanket that you could heat near the fire and it stayed warm all night long. She'd had one of those at home and she missed it dreadfully. Magicians did so many jobs, how could she choose?

"Well?” he thundered.

She flinched and her mind grew blank, as it always did when someone pressed her.

"Answer me! Are you being insolent?"

Leonie couldn't utter a word.

"Sir, I think she's just shy,” said Prince Sylvain. His voice had lost all of its lightness and he spoke in earnest.

Sir Wulfe looked at him and his eyes narrowed. “You don't know her, you just met her. How can you say she's shy? Why are you defending her? Have you fallen in love with her?"

Sylvain looked shocked, but he couldn't seem to say the word “No". It made Sir Wulfe clench his fists and say, “Well? Answer me!"

"Just leave her alone. You're upsetting her.” Sylvain looked at her with the strangest expression, and Leonie felt her mouth go dry.

"Stay out of this!” Sir Wulfe lost his patience and pounded on the table. He looked at Leonie and said, “Now I see what your father meant, and why he had to change you into bird or beast whenever he had guests."

Leonie felt the blood drain from her face. How could he say that? But the fact was, each time she'd been transformed
had
seemed to coincide with some visit or another. But why? Why had he done such a thing? She opened her mouth and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Chickens,” she cried, pressing backwards into her chair and wishing she could flee. “Magicians make chickens out of sparrows so that the poor have eggs."

Sir Wulfe's face grew purple. “Chickens!” he rumbled. “Chickens? I'll show you a chicken.” He pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at her, and she felt a wave of powerful magic surround her.

Transformation magic! Instead of pounding in fear, her heart sang. She closed her eyes and seized the magic, bending it to her will and using it to change her blood and bones into something both divinely fragile and superbly strong. Her body quivered and her mind, which had been cowed, grew bright and fearless. Music seemed to vibrate in her bones, and a crystal-clear joy infused her spirit. Her legs and arms changed, her whole body seemed made of light. She was human no more, she was free, she was a unicorn!

She whirled on her hind legs and cleared the table in a bound. Lowering her head, she transpierced the huge bay window with her horn, shards of glass exploding into the night. She shot out of the castle and fled along the lake shore. The cold didn't bother her any longer, nor did the rain or the storm. Lightning flashed, and she uttered a wild neigh. Free, she was free!

She plunged into the forest as if diving into her safe, warm bed. The forest bent itself around her protectively, as forests are wont to do when inhabited by a unicorn. For a unicorn is a forest's most treasured creature, and each tree and shrub pledged itself to her well-being. Leonie left her humanity behind—her fragile, clumsy humanity—and melted into the forest like a snowflake into a blizzard.

Sylvain gaped at the empty chair, at the shattered window, and then at the magician, whose face had twisted into a gargoyle mask of fury.

"Sir, you ... you.” Sylvain shook his head to clear it. “You transformed your betrothed into a unicorn."

The wizard pounded the table with his fist, causing the glasses to fall and break. “I did no such thing. She turned my magic against me. How is it possible?” he raged. “I never meant to change her into a unicorn."

"And yet you did."

"I swear I did not,” snarled the magician. “You said you trained horses. Well, an equine specialist is just what I need. If you fetch that creature back, I'll give you whatever I can within my powers. Do you understand?"

Sylvain opened his mouth then shut it. What choices did he have? He could return to his home without his brother. That would not satisfy anyone. On the other hand, he had to find out where Renaldo was. That question still remained to be answered. He'd also sworn to save Leonie.

He sighed, undecided. His promise came first. Sir Wulfe had promised his mother he would return Renaldo to Windtide. Perhaps it had already been done.

"Well?” The wizard frowned. “Surely a man in your position has never had an offer such as mine?"

"No,” Sylvain admitted. “I've never had such an offer.” He sighed. He would stay and try to find the unicorn. Perhaps that way, he would find out what happened to his brother. “Very well, I accept.” He hesitated and then asked, “I don't suppose you have an idea how to catch a unicorn?"

The wizard snorted. “Only those pure of heart can capture a unicorn. Or one whose intentions are noble. If you cannot fit that bill, I suggest you seek someone who can help you. And do it fast—before the winter solstice. After that, all deals are off."

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Night had never worried Leonie. She didn't fear the dark. As a unicorn, the darkness bothered her even less. Her senses were so keen that she could hear the owl floating on its silent wings and see the subtle paths the hare took through the forest. The whispering of mice and the mumble of the hare filled her ears. She turned her head, looking from side to side. She could see the hare crouched between the roots of an oak tree, his soft lips fluttering as he dozed. Three mice huddled for warmth beneath a clump of winter ivy. None of the animals noticed her as she passed. She moved like a shadow across the ground; she wore darkness like a cloak.

The rain slackened and stopped, and the clouds parted, letting the moonlight filter through the nearly bare trees. Silvery light etched the grass and the tree bark, and outlined the branches. Moonlight glowed off white mushroom caps and glittered off the raindrops trembling on leaves.

Leonie made her way into the heart of the forest. She couldn't tell how long she walked. Perhaps hours, perhaps even days; for her, the deepest night was now light as a cloudy day, and rain fell but didn't seem to wet her coat.

She stopped in a patch of sunlight, or was it moonlight? She didn't care. It made no difference. The forest embraced her.

A clearing by a spring became her home. For some reason, when she decided to live there, the trees around it stopped losing their leaves and sprouted new ones. Grass grew—soft, sweet, and young—and violets and primroses bloomed in the shade. Sunlight and moonlight dappled the clearing, and Leonie found she needed nothing to eat, but had only to drink the crystal clear spring water to survive.

She never knew hunger or cold. The clearing became a unicorn haven, and other creatures came to spend time in the everlasting springtime, so she was never lonely. Not really. She had been a squirrel at one point, and a sparrow and a rabbit, so she could relate to those animals.

Deer sometimes came, shaking the frost off their tiny hoofs before stepping onto her carpet of spring grass. Leonie looked forward to all the visits. Sometimes an animal came that was sick or wounded, and with her horn she could heal it. She felt, for the first time in her life, useful. And when she was tired, she would curl up between the mossy roots of the old oak tree, lay her head on her knees, and doze.

She couldn't sleep, because sleep brought her dreams and her dreams troubled her. So she dozed, and that seemed to be enough for her. Just as the spring water was all she needed to sip, so short naps seemed all she needed to rest.

But some days a strange restlessness filled her. Thoughts of a tall young man with flame colored hair would plunge her into a deep melancholy. She could no longer recall his name. Her own name too sometimes eluded her. Had she ever had a family or lived anywhere else? She didn't recall, or when she did, the memories were misty and indistinct.

The rain fell, the moon rose, and in the unicorn clearing, a carpet of bluebells echoed the sky.

In the ship's hold, the noise of cannons firing was deafening. Renaldo, assistant cook, had also been recruited into the artillery unit on the battleship. So far, they'd been in six skirmishes, and each one had ended with them victorious. This was the seventh, and things weren't faring as well.

Renaldo grabbed a barrel of gunpowder and lugged it up the narrow ladder to the mid-deck, where the cannons were. Heat shimmered off the iron, and smoke obscured the view. The ceiling was so low he had to stoop, the stench of burning gunpowder, hair, and skin stung his nose and throat. Renaldo shouldered his way past sweating artillery soldiers to his cannon. He set the powder down and wrenched the lid off, cutting his thumb on the sharp copper ring holding the lid down.

Cursing, he lifted out the paper package holding the dose of gunpowder for the cannon. Each barrel of powder held fifteen doses. This was his second barrel.

He shoved the packet into the cannon mouth and packed the powder. He'd had a second to help him, but early in the battle a stray bullet had felled him, and now he worked his cannon by himself. He packed the powder as tightly as possible. Leaning down, he opened the case containing the cannon balls. They were heavy, and his hands were slick with blood and sweat. Carefully he lifted one and let it roll into the cannon's mouth. It hit the packed powder with a thud.

Renaldo didn't stop to admire his work or check out what his neighboring artillery soldiers were doing. Load, fire, load, fire. That was all he did. He didn't even aim. It was useless to think of aiming. The cannons were lashed tightly to their moorings, their snouts facing out a square window.

He raised his arm and the igniter came running, carrying an iron rod heated white-hot. Renaldo stepped out of the way, and the igniter shoved the rod down the hole in the back of the cannon. The deafening explosion as the gun fired merged with the other cannons spitting their ammunition toward the enemy ship.

Renaldo didn't stop to watch the cannon balls skipping across the water to smash or miss the other ship. He grabbed another packet of gunpowder.

At that moment, a cannon ball hit his ship. There had been other hits. Many, in fact; and the worst damage came not from the hurtling iron or stone balls, but from the wood that splintered and flew like daggers. This cannon ball hit the ship and a shower of sharp splinters exploded. Renaldo threw himself flat, thus saving his hide. His head ringing from the noise, a trickle of blood running from his ear, Renaldo managed to open his eyes and take stock of the damage. He'd survived, but others around him were less lucky. The igniter stood, eyes blank with shock, as his shirt turned crimson.

Before Renaldo could get to his feet and catch him, the poor igniter, still clutching his metal rod, toppled to the floor. Fire bloomed from the tip, sizzling along a path of powder someone had dribbled upon the floor. The powder led to a keg, and before Renaldo's stunned mind could order his legs to run, the keg burst with a noise like a thunderclap, and three cannons and Renaldo were blown out to sea.

He never lost consciousness. He managed to grasp a floating spar, and he watched, his face wet with salt spray and tears, as the boat he'd been on heeled violently over and sank in a frothing swirl of smoke, flapping sails, and splintering masts. Three mighty waves rose up where the boat had been and crashed down in a deafening roar.

The roar was echoed from the enemy ship, as the sailors threw their hats into the air and cheered hoarsely. Then, because it was war, and because war, no matter how absurd, had its own rules, they lowered the lifeboats and started to cull the waves for their enemies.

In the cold water, Renaldo waited, resigned, as the boats approached. He had been thrown clear by the explosion, so he was relatively unscathed. Even the mouse in his pocket still lived. Half drowned, spitting and coughing, the mouse sat on Renaldo's shoulder and cursed as fluently as any sailor.

"Now will you tell them your true identity?” the mouse asked with a sneeze. “Have you had your fill of fighting?"

Renaldo clutched the spar tightly, his knuckles whitening with the effort. “That's not the reason I said nothing. I have no stomach for fighting, I hate it. But...."

"But what? Why won't you tell them your name and let them ransom you so you can go home?"

But he wouldn't, and he didn't tell the mouse the real reason. He'd become friends with some of the other soldiers. They'd talked of important things, like the color of their wives’ eyes, or the height of corn at this time of year. Some of his comrades had fretted, wondering if their children would forget them, if their farms were being cared for in their absence, or if their shops still opened in the morning and did business all day long.

Little pieces of life had been offered to him. Hopes, fears, dreams, and jokes had been traded in that ship. The igniter had been a lad named Joffrey. He'd been the eldest of thirteen children, and the stories of his siblings’ antics had amused Renaldo, being alone with just Sylvain. Joff, as they'd called him, hadn't gone to school, but he knew more jokes by heart than anyone, and he'd never been without a smile. He'd miss Joffrey.