“The rest of our number must drink,” another of the wyverns hissed urgently.
“Fetch them,” Lell replied. “We will stand watch.”
Quick as a flinch, the smallest of the wyrms vanished into the trees. Of the remaining two, the younger spoke.
“Five summers gone, your warriors slew Lynex’s queen and gave our kind the chance we needed to multiply and grow. Unwittingly, perhaps. Still, we owe you that.”
“Our sire and dam slew her,” Dhattar told them, “with their shoulder-friend, Dagg. They only did so because she meant to kill them and would not let them go.”
“Our flight from Lynex has succeeded,” the other wyvern replied, “solely because he dare not send loyalists to hunt us down while marshaling his forces to ambush you. We knew we must seize this, our one chance of escape, lest he fall upon us and devour us as he means to do with you.”
Aiony and Lell glanced at one another. “He may find himself surprised instead,” the older filly answered.
“But where will you go?” Aiony asked the two wyrms suddenly. “You must find shelter by summer’s end.”
The pair twitched in despair. “We know nothing of the world beyond our dens. We knew only that we must flee or die. We cannot guess where our trek will lead, only that it must be far from Lynex and his murderous kind.”
“Hark me,” Aiony replied. “My sib and I have seen your destination in dreams. You must circle back the way you came, for no haven lies before you. Travel north and west instead, and you will find dens in plenty by summer’s end. This I vow. You must trust our word. Had we meant you harm, we had raised the alarm by now.”
The two wyverns gazed at her uncertainly until a rustling behind made them turn. Other wyverns emerged from the trees, heads darting cautiously. Catching sight of the pool, they hastened to the bank, drank eagerly and long.
“Look into the water,” Dhattar murmured to Lell. “I’ll show you the wyrmking in his lair.”
Lell looked deep, and as she did so, Jan felt his perception merge with hers. Through Lell’s eyes, he saw the moonbright pool, its still surface disturbed by the touch of many wyverns. Lell heard their soft lapping, the rustle of bodies, quiet hissing of breath. Jan watched her reflection ripple in the pool beside Dhattar’s. Their images pulled apart and re-formed into new shapes: Lynex’s den, shot through with moonlight. The white wyrmking towered above a cringing, single-headed underling.
“Gone?” the central, largest pate demanded, and its secondary heads echoed, “What do you mean, gone?”
“Escaped, my liege,” the messenger whimpered. “Fled to the Plain. Not a stingless one remains in all our dens.”
“Fled?” the great head of Lynex raged. “They had no right! They were mine. My subjects. Mine to banish or destroy. So hungry—I have grown so very hungry, waiting on these unicorns. Where now is my feast?”
The messenger cowered before Lynex as the wyrmking’s half-dozen smaller aspects ranted, “Hungry, hungry! Longing for the feast! “
Jaws snapping, heads writhing above the scar-laced breast, the iridescent white form reared up, roaring its rage. Suddenly the great central head whipped around, returned its gaze to the messenger now creeping away.
“Halt,” Lynex spat. “You do not have leave to go. Did you not mark your king hungers?”
The other gave a terrified cry. “No, no, my liege! I am but a messenger. Mercy. Mercy, I beg you!…”
Frantically, the little wyrm dashed for the den’s egress. Quicker than thought, the wyverns’ seven-headed king lunged. Brilliant moonlight from a lightwell glanced across him, breast scar gleaming between the stumpy forepaws’ powerful, extended claws, teeth like broken fishbones, all seven mouths agape. Sickened, Lell heard the messenger shriek. Dhattar set his hoof down in the pool, breaking the image.
“We needn’t watch more,” he told her softly.
Jan felt his sister’s silent sigh. She shook herself, heart thumping inside her ribs, voice tight with outrage.
“He’s evil,” she whispered. “He eats his own kind.”
Dhattar nodded, then glanced away. The stingless wyverns had finished drinking. Jan observed them: all were noticeably plumper, more nimble, less weary. Aiony nodded gravely to the foremost among them. Apparently they had been speaking softly for some time.
“We will not forget, little black-and-silver. Seeking these dens which you describe, we will praise your name, and think no more ill of unicorns.”
“Have a care how you depart,” Aiony answered. “All the herd does not feel as we. One day, perhaps, we will pledge truce with stingless wyverns—but for now, this must be but our own, privy pact. Avoid our sentries and depart in peace, guided by Alma’s eyes.”
Softly as running water, the wyverns slipped away. Jan marked only the barest rustle of grass as they withdrew. That, too, faded.
Lell looked at Aiony.
“They’re smaller than I thought.”
Dhattar nodded. “Those were but youths, and stingless. The ones with stings are older, far greater in size. Our warriors will have no easy task.”
“Truth,” another voice behind them murmured, a deep, throaty purr like a grass pard’s thrumming.
Dhattar and Aiony jumped and wheeled. Lell did not, merely cast a glance over one shoulder at Illishar just emerging from the trees. His massy, wingèd form was as graceful moving along the ground as it was in flight.
“You unicorns are a fearless lot,” he chuckled. “I wonder you don’t all perish before you’re grown.”
Aiony laughed, nipping the tercel gently on his great eagle’s foreleg. “You move very silent, Illishar.”
“And you are not quite the all-seer you think yourself, little moonshadow.”
“We’re young,” Dhattar answered matter-of-factly. “We’ll see more clearly in time.” With one curving talon, the gryphon pulled a wisp of grass from the white foal’s mane. Gently, Lell champed her nephew by the crest of the neck and shook him, then did the same to Aiony.
“I thought best—since you’d sworn me against informing your dam—to bring a warrior fierce enough to defend us at need.”
Jan felt relief flooding him to realize Illishar had guarded the young trio the whole while.
“Come,” the gryphon said, turning. “Night grows late. Were we to stay longer, we would be missed. Let us see if we are as clever at slipping back through the sentries as we were at slipping out.”
Dhattar and Aiony on either side, Lell bringing up the rear, the three colts followed. The shadow of the grove swallowed them. Before them, barely in sight, the main body of the camp lay off across the tall grass. No sooner had the four companions vanished from Jan’s, view than two new figures emerged from the trees. These, too, had apparently concealed themselves and watched. Deep cherry red, Jah-lila shook her standing mane and turned to her fellow, the star-covered stallion Calydor.
“Sooth, their power astonishes,” he remarked, “and in view of their age—foaled but three summers gone?”
The red mare nodded.
“This deed bodes weighty for their folk.”
Jah-lila smiled. “When it becomes known. But that will not be for some seasons yet.”
“Only three years in age.” Calydor shook his head in disbelief. “The Sight runs strongly in their blood.”
The red wych eyed him wryly, murmured, “On, both sides. Now ask me what you will.”
The star-marked seer snorted. “Will you aid me? Will you do as I ask and arrange a meeting? She will not converse with me in others’ sight, or even look on me. She flees when I approach. I must speak with her. I must.”
The red mare’s black-green eyes grew merry. “Have I not always brought you word of her whenever I traversed the Plain? Let you know she was well and had borne two healthy colts and fared happily among her folk?”
“You told as little as you could,” Calydor snapped. “You never told me her station, that she had pledged as prince’s mate and borne him heirs.”